
I. L. 969 - BO M 



^%j; 



TENLE? 



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SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

From a Painting by Sir H. Raf.bukn, .SoS 



THE 

POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

SIR WALTER SCOTT 

I) 
Baronet 

EDITED, WITH A CAREEUL REVISION OF THE TEXT 

BY 

WILLIAM J. ROLFE 

A. M., LiTT. D. 



IBitl) 3(nuj^tration.i^ 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

C()e EtiJcrfinUe JPrcfits, CambriUffc 
[899 



c 



TH 5 305 
,£?7 



TESLBS; 



Copyright, 1SS7, 
By Ticknor and Company. 



All rights reserved. 



TRANS FIR 
O. O, PUBLIC LiBfiSLRY 



O 



o 






PUBLISHERS' NOTE. 

The present edition of Scott's Poems was published in iSSy in a 
more bulky and expensive form. In reissuing it now in smaller 
compass and at a reduced price, the Publishers desire to call attention 
to two features zvhich, in their judgment, render the book exception- 
ally tvortJiy of attention. The text of the poems represents very 
close and careful study on the part of the scrupulous editor, and 
may be accepted as the most satisfactory complete text in existence. 
The illustrations, executed at the time zvhen the art of wood-engrav- 
ing may be said to have readied its culmination in the United States, 
are not careless random sketches, evolved for the i?iost part from 
the brain of the designer, but are really in the nature of notes to the 
poems, sijice they are for the most part actual studies of Scottish 
scenery and life, the artist having visited the localities of the poems 
for the purpose of securing somewhat of the same fidelity to nature 
which Scott himself aimed at y in his recourse to history ajid legend. 

Boston, February, 1899. 



PREFACE. 




The aim in this edition of Scott's Poems 
has been to give a correct text, with such 
portions of Scott's notes as are likely to be 
useful or interesting to the general reader, 
and with fuller and better pictorial illustra- 
tions than are to be found in any former 
edition. The volume contains all the poems 
(not the plays, which are seldom, if ever, read 
nowadays, unless as mere literary curiosi- 
ties), with the exception of a few bits of 
personal or occasional verse which Scott him- 
self would never have printed, and which are 
not worth preserving. The original contributions to the Border Minstrelsy 
are included, except Scott's portion of Thomas the Rhymer (the Third Part 
only), which could not well be separated from the rest. Of the Songs 
scattered through the novels and plays, the best of such as are compara- 
tively independent of the context are given, together with all the poetical 
mottoes written by Scott himself for the heading of chapters. 

The text of all the editions, English or American, published during the 
last fifty years, is more or less corrupt. I do not except that of Lockhart, 
who very rarely corrected an error in Scott's editions, while he allowed 
many slips made by his own printers to pass undetected. In the prefaces 
to the " Students' Edition " of the Lady of the Lake and Marmion, I have 
quoted examples of these corruptions, some of which are almost incredibly 
bad. Marmion, as I have shown, was never printed correctly until I edited 



viii PREFACE. 



it, sundry misprints in the first edition having been overlooked by Scott and 
by all his commentators and critics. This is the more amazing, inasmuch as 
the passages in which the errors occurred became utterly nonsensical. 

In carefully collating the text of all the other long poems with that of 
the earliest editions I have been able to obtain (I have not always succeeded 
in getting hold of the first edition), I have found corruptions quite as bad 
as those in the Lady and Marmioii. In the minor poems I have met with 
comparatively few of these inaccuracies. 

The punctuation has been revised throughout, in accordance with the 
best recent usage, thousands of the superfluous points with which former 
editions are so plentifully besprinkled having been deleted. 

In abridging Scott's voluminous notes (they have been merely abridged 
without alteration of the portions retained), I have omitted nothing which 
the reader who turns to them for explanation or illustration of the text is 
likely to miss. That the longer notes have been little read, is evident from 
the fact that Lockhart's accidental dropping of a whole page from one in 
the Lady in 1833, which destroyed the sense by uniting the fragments of 
two independent sentences, was not observed, or at least not pointed out, 
until I called attention to it in 1883. 

The Glossary contains all the words explained in Scott's shorter notes, 
with a few additions of my own. 

The engravings may be trusted to speak for themselves. Whether for 
beauty or for accuracy, they may challenge comparison with anything that 
has appeared in former editions on either side of the Atlantic. 



W. J. R. 





Page 

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL i 

Lntroduction 3 

Canto First 5 

Canto Second 11 

Canto Third 21 

Canto Fourth 28 

Canto Fifth 38 

Canto Sixth 48 

MARMION 59 

Introduction to Canto First ... 61 
To William Stewart Rose, Esq. 

Canto First. The Castle ... 64 

Introduction to Canto Second . . 74 
To THE Rev. John Harriot, a. m. 

Canto Second. The Convent . . 76 

Introduction to Canto Third . . 86 
To William Erskine, Esq. 

Canto Third. The Hostel, or 
Inn 88 

Introduction to Canto Fourth . . 98 
To James Skene, Esq. 

Canto Fourth. The Camp . . . 100 

Introduction to Canto Fifth . .111 
To George Ellis, Esq. 

Canto Fifth. The Court . . .113 

Introduction to Canto Sixth . . 128 
To Richard Heber, Esq. 

Canto Sixth. The Battle . . . 130 



Page 

THE LADY OF THE LAKE ... 149 

Canto First. The Chase ... 151 

Canto Second. The Island . . 169 

Canto Third. The Gathering. 187 

Canto Fourth. The Prophecy . 203 

Canto Fifi'h. The Combat . . 217 

Canto Sixth. The Guard-Room 233 

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK . 251 

Introduction 253 

The Vision 255 

Conclusion 266 

ROKEBY 271 

Canto First 273 

Canto Second 282 

Canto Third 291 

Canto Fourth 301 

Canto Fifth 310 

Canto Sixth 322 

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN . . 335 

Introduction 337 

Canto First 339 

Canto Second 343 

Canto Third 354 

Conclusion 364 

THE LORD OF THE ISLES ... 365 

Canto First 367 

Canto Second 376 



CONTENTS. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 

Canto Third 383 

Canto Fourth ...;.... 391 

Canto Fifth 400 

Canto Sixth 409 

Conclusion 420 

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO . . 421 

The Field of Waterloo .... 423 

Conclusion 430 

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS ... 433 

Introduction 435 

Canto P'irst 436 

Canto Second 441 

Canto Third 445 

Canto Fourth 450 

Canto Fifth 454 

Canto Sixth 459 

Conclusion 464 

BALLADS, TRANSLATED OR IMI- 
TATED, FROM THE GERMAN, etc. 465 

William and Helen 467 

The Wild Huntsman 470 

The Fire-King 472 

Frederick and Alice 475 

The Battle of Sempach 475 

The Noble Moringer 477 

The Erl-King 481 

BALLADS 482 

Glenfinlas : or, Lord Ronald's Coro- 
nach 482 

The Eve of Saint John 486 

Cadyow Castle 488 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS .... 492 

The Violet 492 

To a Lady 492 

The Bard's Incantation 492 

Hellvellyn 493 

The Dying Bard 494 

The Norman Horse-Shoe .... 494 

The Maid of Toro 494 

The Palmer 495 



Page 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The Maid of Neidpath 495 

Wandering Willie 496 

Hunting Song 496 

Song 497 

The Resolve 497 

Epitaph designed for a Monument in 
Lichfield Cathedral, at the Burial- 
Place of the Family of Miss Seward 498 
Prologue to Miss Baillie's Play of 
" The Family Legend " . . . . 498 

The Poacher 498 

The Bold Dragoon ; or, The Plain of 

Badajos 501 

On the Massacre of Glencoe . . . 501 
Song for the Anniversary Meeting of 

the Pitt Club of Scotland .... 502 
Lines addressed to Ranald Macdon- 

ald, Esq., of Staffa 502 

Pharos Loquitur 503 

Letters in Verse on the Voyage with 
the Commissioners of Northern 

Lights 503 

Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief 

of Kintail 505 

Imitation of the preceding Song . . 506 
War- Song of Lachlan, High Chief of 

Maclean 506 

Saint Cloud 507 

The Dance of Death 507 

Romance of Dunois 508 

The Troubadour 509 

From the French 509 

Song on the Lifting of the Banner of 
the House of Buccleuch, at a great 
Foot-Ball Match on Carterhaugh . 509 
Lullaby of an Infant Chief .... 511 

The Return to Ulster 511 

Jock of Hazeldean 512 

Pibroch of Donald Dhu 512 

Nora's Vow 512 

MacGregor's Gathering 513 

Verses composed for the Occasion, 
adapted to Haydn's Air, " God save 
the Emperor Francis," and sung by 
a select Band after the Dinner given 
by the Lord Provost of Edinburgh 
to the Grand Duke Nicholas of 
Russia, and his Suite, 19th De- 
cember, i8i6 513 



CONTENTS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The Search for Happiness ; or, The 

Quest of Sultaun Solimaun . . . 514 

Lines written for Miss Smith . . . 51S 
Mr. Kemble's Farewell Address on 

taking Leave of the Edinburgh Stage 519 

The Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill . 519 

The Monks of Bangor's March . . 510 

Epilogue to the Appeal 520 

Mackrimmon's Lament . . . . . 520 

Donald Caird 's come again .... 521 

Epitaph on Mrs. Erskine 521 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. *^''''" 

On Ettrick Forest's Mountains Dun . 522 

The Maid of Isla 522 

Farewell to the Muse 522 

The Bannatyne Club 523 

Epilogue to the Drama founded on 

" Saint Ronan's Well " .... 524 

Epilogue 525 

The Death of Keeldar 525 

The Foray 526 

Inscription for the Monument of the 

Rev. George Scott 526 



APPENDIX. 



JUVENILE LINES 529 

From Virgil 529 

On a Thunder- Storm 529 

On the Setting Sun 529 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS 



529 



Saint Swithin's Chair 529 

Flora Maclvor's Song 530 

Twist Ye, Twine Ye 530 

Proud Maisie . 531 

Lucy Ashton's Song 531 

Ancient Gaelic Melody 531 

The Orphan Maid 531 

The Barefooted Friar 532 

Rebecca's Hymn 532 

Funeral Hymn 532 

On Tweed River 533 

To the Sub-Prior 533 

Border Ballad 533 

Claude Halcro's Song 534 

Song of Harold Harfager .... 534 

Song of the Zetland Fisherman . . 534 

Cleveland's Songs 535 

County Guy 535 

Soldier, Wake ! 535 

The Truth of Woman 535 

An Hour with Thee 536 

The Lay of Poor Louise 536 

Song of the Glee-Maiden 536 



SONGS FROM THE PLAYS 



537 



The Sun upon the Lake 537 

Admire not that I Gained .... 537 

When the Tempest 537 

Bonny Dundee 537 



SONGS FROM THE PLAYS. 

When Friends are Met 538 

Hither we Come 538 

FRAGMENTS 539 

The Gray Brother 539 

Bothwell Castle 540 

The Shepherd's Tale 540 

Cheviot 543 

The Reiver's Wedding 543 

MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS . 545 

From The Antiquary 545 

" The Black Dwarf 546 

" Old Mortality 547 

'• Rob Roy 547 

" The Heart of Mid-Lothian . . 547 

" The Bride of Lammermoor . 548 

" The Legend of Montrose . . 548 

" Ivanhoe 548 

" The Monastery 549 

" The Abbot 550 

" Kenilworth 551 

" The Pirate 552 

" The Fortunes of Nigel . . . 553 

" Peveril of the Peak .... 555 

" Quentin Durward 556 

" Saint Ronan's Well .... 556 

" The Betrothed 557 

" The Talisman 557 

" Woodstock 558 

" Chronicles of the Canongate . 559 

" The Fair Maid of Perth . . 559 

" Anne of Geierstein .... 559 

" Count Robert of Paris . . . 560 

" Castle Dangerous 561 



xn 



CONTENTS. 



NOTES. 



Page 

The Lay of the Last Minstrel 565 

Marmion 57^ 

The Lady of the Lake 594 

The Vision of Don Roderick 602 

Rokeby 604 

The Bridal of Triermain 612 

The Lord of the Isles 615 



Page 

The Field of Waterloo 623 

Harold the Dauntless 624 

Ballads from the German, etc 624 

Ballads 626 

Miscellaneous Poems 629 

Mottoes from the Novels 632 



Glossary 
Index . 



63s 
641 




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Drawn, engraved, and printed under the supervision of A. V. S. Anthony. 



Page 
Sir Walter Scott, from a painting by 

Sir H. Raeburn, 1808 .... Frontispiece. 

Vignette. Portrait of Sir Walter Scott . vii 

Tailpiece viii 

Headpiece ix 

Tailpiece xii 

Headpiece xiii 

Tailpiece xx 

Half Title. The Lay of the Last 
Minstrel i 

Vignette. A Harp 2 

" The minstrel was infirm and old "... 3 

Branksome Turrets 4 

" The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all " 5 

Naworth Castle . 6 

" Hung Margaret o'er her slaughtered sire. 
And wept in wild despair " 7 

The Spirit of the Fell 8 

" A fancied moss-trooper, the boy 

The truncheon of a spear bestrode " . . 9 



Page 
" Cliffs which for many a later year 

The warbling Doric reed shall hear "..11 

Melrose Abbey 12 

" Again on the knight looked the church- 
man old " 13 

Liddesdale 14 

A Corner in the Abbey 14 

Eildon Hills 15 

The Secret Nook 16 

" The light broke forth so gloriously " . . 17 

" Smiled Branksome towers and Teviot's 

tide" 18 

" The knight and ladye fair are met " . . 19 

" The Baron's dwarf his courser held " . . 20 

" The meeting of these champions proud 

Seemed like the bursting thunder-cloud " . 21 

" ' Man of age, thou smitest sore ! ' " . . 23 

" The speaker issued from the wood, 

And checked his fellow's surly mood " . . 24 



xiv , LIST OF ILL 

Page 
" ' I think our work is well begun, 

When we have taken thy father's son ' " . 24 

" E'en the rude watchman on the tower 

Enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour " . . 25 

" Fair Margaret, from the turret head, 

Heard far below the coursers' tread " . 27 

"The peel's rude battlement " . . . . . 29 

"They crossed the Liddel at curfew hour. 

And burned my little lonely tower " . . . 30 

A Gate at Branksome 31 

" But faster still a cloth-yard shaft 

Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew " . . 32 

■" Rides forth the hoary seneschal " . . . 33 

" He ceased — and loud the boy did cry " . 34 

RUBERSLAW •. , . -35 

" The pursuivant-at-arms again 

Before the castle took his stand " . . . 36 

Kelso Abbey 37 

" Now squire and knight, from Branksome 

sent " 39 

" But yet on Branksome's towers and town, 
In peaceful merriment, sunk down 

The sun's declining ray " 40 

" She gazed upon the inner court "... 41 

" He walks through Branksome's hostile 

towers " 42 

" Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, . . . 

In armor sheathed from top to toe " . . 43 

The Herald's Trumpet 44 

" 'T is done, 't is done ! that fatal blow " . 45 

" She took fair Margaret by the hand " . 46 

" Hence, to the field unarmed he ran " . . 47 

" ' I 'd give the lands of Deloraine, 

Dark Musgrave were alive again ' " . . . 48 

" The minstrels came, at festive call " . . 49 



USTRA TIONS. 



Page 

" Was spread the gorgeous festival " . . 50 

" At unawares he wrought him harm " . . 51 

" Naworth's iron towers " 52 

" And pensive read from tablet eburnine " 53 

" Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall " . 54 

" Just where the page had flung him down " 55 

" With naked foot and sackcloth vest, 

And arms enfolded on his breast "... 56 

" The holy fathers, two and two. 

In long procession came " 57 

Branksome 58 

Half Title. Marmion 59 

Vignette. A Loophole 60 

Headpiece to Introduciton .... 61 

" Day set on Norham's castled steep " . . b^ 

" Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode " . 66 

Eos worth Field 67 

" Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck, . . . 
Stood on the steps of stone "... 



" A mighty wassail-bowl he took, 

And crowned it high with wine ',' . . 

" What time we razed old Ayton tower, 

" And fronted Marmion where he sate " 

Headpiece to Introduction . . . 

Tailpiece to Introduction . . . . 



68 

69 
70 
73 
74 
76 



" Where, from high Whitby's cloistered 

pile " 77 

'• She sate upon the galley's prow, 

And seemed to mark the waves below " - 79 

" Answering from the sandy shore " . . .80 

Lindisfarne Abbey 81 

" And there she stood so calm and pale " . 83 

Tailpiece . 85 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Pagk 

Headpiece to Introduction .... 86 

Tailpiece to Introduction 88 

" The village inn seemed large, though 



rude " 



" By glen and streamlet winded still, 
Where stunted birches hid the rill " . . 

" And viewed around the blazing hearth 
His followers mix in noisy mirth " . . 



89 



90 



91 



Loch Vennachar 92 

Dunfermline Abbey 93 



" In moonbeam half, and half in gloom. 
Stood a tall form with nodding plume " 



95 



Tailpiece 97 

Headpiece to Introduction .... 98 

Tailpiece to Introduction ... . 100 

The Camp loi 

" Through Humbie's and through Saltoun's 

wood " 102 

" Down from his horse did Marmion spring 
Soon as he saw the Lion-King " . . . . 103 

" Where Crichtoun Castle crowns the bank " 105 

" Full on his face the moonbeam strook ! " 107 

" Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast . . . 

A truant-boy, I sought the nest " . . . . 108 

" Where the huge Castle holds its state " . 109 

Headpiece to Introduction . . . .111 

Tailpiece to Introduction 112 

Dun Edin 113 

" Next, Marmion marked the Celtic race " . 114 

" Old Holy-Rood rung merrily " . . . .115 

" The monarch o'er the siren hung. 

And beat the measure as she sung " . . -117 

" On Derby Hills the paths are steep, 

In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep " . .119 



" The antique buildings, climbing high " 

" At night in secret there they came. 
The Palmer and the holy dame " 

" North Berwick's town and lofty I>aw 



" Then took the squire her rein. 
And gently led away her steed " . 

Tailpiece 



Headpiece to Introduction . . 

Tailpiece to Introduction . . 

" Tantallon's dizzy steep 
Hung o'er the margin of the deep " 

" It chanced a gliding sail she spied " 

" Wilton himself before her stood ! " 

" The rest were all in Twisel glen " 

" The steed along the drawbridge flies 
Just as it trembled on the rise " . . 

" ' Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! ' " . 

" The Till by Twisel Bridge " . . 

" ' Here, by this cross,' he gently said ' 

Flodden Field 



" With dying hand above his head 
He shook the fragment of his blade. 
And shouted ' Victorv ! ' " . . . 



Page 
121 



1^5 

126 
127 

128 

130 



I^i2 



JJ 



" There erst was martial Marmion found " 

Tailpiece 

Vignette. A Broken Harp 

Half Title. The Lady of the Lake 

Vignette 

Glenartney 

Saint Fillan's Hill 

" The wild heaths of Uam-Var "... 

The Brigg of Turk (from the North) . 

" Boon nature scattered, free and wild, 
Each plant or flower, the mountain's child " 



135 

136 
137 
139 
140 
141 

143 
145 
147 
148 
149 
150 

153 

154 
155 

155 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 





Page 




Page 


" In the deep Trosachs' wildest nook " . 


156 


Scotch Harebells 


173 


[Benvemie, from the Trosachs' road.] 




Loch Lomond and Ben Lomond . . 


173 


" The rocky summits, split and rent, 




[From Balloch.] 




Formed turret, dome, or battlement " . . 
[Ben-an, from the Trosachs' road.] 


157 


" Bracklinn's thundering wave " . . . . 


174 


" A narrow inlet, still and deep "... 

" And now, to issue from the glen, 

No pathway meets the wanderer's ken " . 


158 

I 58 


" And, bearing downwards from Glengyle, 
Steered full upon the lonely isle "... 

" And near, and nearer as they rowed, 
Distinct the martial ditty flowed "... 


175 
176 


The Lady of the Lake 


159 


[Brianchoil Point.] 




" High on the south, huge Benvenue 




Glen Luss 


177 


Down to the lake in masses threw " . . 
[The eastern end of Loch Katrine.] 


160 


" With all her joyful female band 

Had Lady Margaret sought the strand " . 


17S 


" Prom underneath an aged oak 
That slanted from the islet rock "... 
[The landing at Ellen's Isle. — Loch Katrine 


160 
•] 


" And, at her whistle, on her hand 

The falcon took his favorite stand " . . 


179 






Inchmahone Island, Lake Menteith 


180 


" In listening mood, she seemed to stand. 
The guardian Naiad of the strand " . . 

" His stately mien as well implied 

A high-born heart, a martial pride " . . 

" This lake's romantic strand " . . . . 
[The Silver Strand. — Loch Katrine.] 


161 

162 
163 


" ' Short be my speech ; — nor time affords. 
Nor my plain temper, glozing words ' " . 

"' Hear my blunt speech: grant me this 

maid 
To wife, thy counsel to mine aid ' " . . . 


181 

182 


" He crossed the threshold, — and a clang 
Of angry steel that instant rang "... 


164 


" With stalwart grasp his hand he laid 
On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid " . 


183 


" Dame Margaret heard with silence grave ' 


.65 


" Young Malcolm answered, calm and bold" 


184 


" For all around, the walls to grace. 




" Then plunged he in the flashing tide " . 


185 


Hung trophies of the fight or chase "... 


166 


Benvenue. — From Ellen's Isle .... 


186 


" The hall was cleared, — the stranger's bed 
Was there of mountain heather spread " . 


167 


" The gray mist left the mountain-side " . 
[Benvenue, from the Silver Strand.] 


187 


" At length, with Ellen in a grove 




" Brian the Hermit by it stood " . . . . 


188 


He seemed to walk and speak of love " . 


168 


" All night, in this sad glen, the maid 




Tailpiece. Bagpipes 


168 


Sat shrouded in her mantle's shade " . . 


189 


I':i.len's Isle 


169 


" ' Woe to the clansman who shall view 




" Upon a rock with lichens wild. 




This symbol of sepulchral yew ' " . . . 


190 


Beside him Ellen sat and smiled "... 


170 


" Ben-an's gray scalp the accents knew " 


191 


" He parts, — the maid, unconscious still. 




[Ben-an, from Loch Katrine.] 




Watched him wind slowly round the hill " 


171 


" And the gray pass where birches wave 




" -Soothing she answered him : ' Assuage, 




On Beala-nam-bo " 


192 


Mine honored friend, the fears of age ' " . 


172 


" ' Speed, Malise, speed ! ' " 


193 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



xvu 

Page 



Page 
" Uuncraggan's huts appear at last " . . 194 



" All stand aghast : — unheeding all, 
The henchman bursts into the hall " . . 

" Swoln was the stream, remote the 
bridge " 

In Leny Pass 

Ruins of the Chapel of Saint Bride 

Loch Lubnaig 

The Braes of Balquidder 

Loch Voil 

Loch Con 

" And called the grot the Goblin Cave " . 



Lanrick Heights . . 
[From Lanrick Mead.] 



195 

195 
196 
197 
198 
199 
200 
201 
201 
202 



Loch Vennachar 203 

[From Bochastle Hill.] 

Up Glenfinlas 204 



" ' But see, who comes his news to show ! 
Malise ! what tidings of the foe ? ' " . . 



Ruins of Doune Castle . . 
[From the Ardoch.] 

" ' Sooth was my prophecy of fear 
Believe it when it augurs cheer ' '' 



205 
206 



Singing Birds 



" ' Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine ; 
Each guard and usher knows the sign ' " . 

Old Bridge between Loch Achray 
and Loch Vennachar 

" Now wound the path its dizzy ledge 
Around a precipice's edge " . . . . 



207 
208 

209 



" ' Stranger, it is in vain ! ' she cried " . . 213 



" With cautious step and ear awake. 

He climbs the crag and threads the brake " 

" Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, 
A watch-fire close before him burned " 



Tailpiece. A Harp 



-14 

-IS 
216 



" At length they came where, stern and 

steep. 
The hill sinks down upon the deep " . . 
[The road between Duncraggan and Lanrick. 



Doune Castle 

[From the River Teith.] 

The Old Bridge at Callander . . 

" ' Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 
From its firm base as soon as I '" . . . 

" On Bochastle the mouldering lines " 

" ' For this is Coilantogle ford. 

And thou must keep thee with thy sword ' " 

Coilantogle Ford 

" 111 fared it then with Roderick Dhu " . 

" Unbonneted, and by the wave 

Sat down his brow and hands to lave " . 



217 
218 
219 

220 
221 



Torry . . . 
Deanstown 



" Gray Stirling, with her towers and town, 
Upon their fleet career looked down " . . 

The Gate. — Stirling Castle 

Ladies' Rock. — Stirling Castle . . . 

" Needs but a buffet and no more " . . 

Tailpiece 

"Through narrow loop and casement 

barred. 
The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard " 

" At length up started John of Brent " 

" Boldly she spoke : ' Soldiers, attend ! ' " 

" She bade her slender purse be shared " . 

Entrance to Roderick Dhu's Dun- 
geon 

" ' Who fought ? — who fled .'' — Old man, 
be brief ' " 



224 

225 
226 
226 

227 
228 
229 
231 



" Where shall he find, in foreign land, 
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! " 



234 

238 
239 
240 



XVlll 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



" For life ! for life ! their flight they ply " . 241 

" That deep and doubling pass within " . 242 
[The Pass of Beal-an-duine.] 

" ' Behold yon isle ! — 
See ! none are left to guard its strand ' " . 243 

The Teith at Callander 244 

" 'T was from a turret that o'erhung 

Her latticed bower, the strain was sung " 245 

" On many a splendid garb she gazed, — 
Then turned bewildered and amazed " . 246 

" Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, 

And on his neck his daughter hung " . . 247 

" Down kneeled the Graeme to Scotland's 

Lord" . 248 

The Chain of Gold . 248 

Tailpiece. — Ben Lomond, from Luss . 249 

Vignette. — Loch Lomond Gulls . . . 250 

Half Title. The Vision of Don Rod- 
erick o 251 



Vignette 252 

^57 



Castles and towers, in due proportion 
each " 



" By day the invaders ravaged hill and 

dale" 263 

Talavera 265 

" And Lisbon's matrons from their walls " 267 

Tailpiece 269 

Vignette 270 

Half Title. Rokeby 271 

Vignette 272 

Barnard Castle 275 

" ' Aught,' answered Bertram, ' wouldst 

thou know, 

Demand in simple terms and plain ' " . . 277 

The Tweed 279 



" Egliston's gray ruins " 
" Who by Roslin strays " 



Page 
283 



" Some mountain, rent and riven, 
A channel for the stream had given " . . 

" Nor then unscabbarded his brand " . . 

" The course of Greta's playful tide " . . 

" Where the bank opposing showed 
Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy wood' 

Denzil and Bertram at the Cave . 

" The woodland lends its sylvan screen " 

" Soon in Rokeby's woods is seen 
A gallant boy " 



" ' And rest we here,' Matilda said " . . 

" Distant and high, the tower of Bowes " . 

" The old gray porter raised his torch " . 

The Cavalier 

" Forth from the central mass of smoke 
The giant form of Bertram broke " . . 

" When yonder broken arch was whole " . 

" ' Over Redesdale it came, 
As bodeful as their beacon- flame '" . . 

" He left no bolder heart behind "... 

Tailpiece 

Vignette 



Half Title. The Bridal of Trier- 
main 

Vignette 

" The woodland brook we needs must 
pass " 

" And now we reach the favorite glade " . 

" He journeyed like errant-knight the 
while " 

" And copse and arbor decks the spot " . 

" Carlisle tower and town" 

" In panoply the champions ride "... 



287 
289 

293 

■295 
299 

303 

305 
307 
3" 

y7 

321 
323 

329 
332 

Z2>3 
334 

335 

337 
339 

341 
345 
347 
349 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



XIX 



Page 

" But soon to earnest grew their game '" . 351 

" This rude and Alpine glen " .... 353 

" That shattered pile of rocks so gray " . 357 

" Tossed high aloft a fountain fair 

Was sparkling in the sun " 361 

Half Title. The Lord of the Isles 365 

Vignette 366 

" The last blithe shout hath died upon our 

ear" . . 368 

Tailpiece 368 

Artornish 369 

The House of Lorn 371 

Tailpiece 375 

* 

" Dunvegan high " 379 

" Sandalled monks who relics bore, 
With many a torch-bearer before 

And many a cross behind " 361 

CORISKIN and CoOLIN 387 

" Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell " . 389 

" From Canna's tower " 393 

Columba's Isle 397 

Tailpiece 399 

" Fair Loch-Ranza " 401 

" In Brodick-Bay " 403 

Tailpiece 408 

Stirling's Towers 409 

" All bouned them for the fight " ... 411 

The Field of B.a.nnockburn .... 413 

" High in his stirrups stood the king " . 415 

Cambus-kenneth 419 

Half Title. The Field of Waterloo 421 

Vignette 422 

" Thy wood, dark Soignies " 424 



Page 

The Field of Waterloo 425 

Napoleon 429 

" The dawn that in the orient glows " . . 431 

Tailpiece 431 

Vignette 432 

Half Title. Harold the Dauntless 433 

Vignette 434 

Saint Cuthbert's Isle 437 

" 'T is merry in greenwood " 441 

" Gray towers of Durham " 447 

Tailpiece 449 

Tailpiece . 458 

Tailpiece 463 

Vignette 464 

Half Title. Translations, Ballads, 

Etc 465 

Vignette 466 

Tailpiece 481 

" In gray Glenfinlas' deepest nook " . . 483 

" Where wild Loch Katrine pours her 

tide" 485 

Linlithgow 490 

Tailpiece 49^ 

" The brown crest of Newark " . . . . 510 

Half Title. Appendix 527 

Vignette 528 

Tailpiece 536 

Tailpiece •. 538 

BoTHWELL Castle 541 

Cheviot 543 

" Yarrow's Braes " 544 

Tailpiece 561 

Vignette , . . . . 562 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Page 

Half Title. Notes 563 

Vignette 564 

Tailpiece 632 

Half Title. Glossary 633 

Vignette 634 



Tailpiece .... 
Vignette .... 
Half Title. Index 
Vignette .... 
Tailpiece .... 



Page 

637 

638 

639 
640 
6a6 







->^ai 




'Ct)e iLap of tlje iast iWinstrel. 



DuTti relego, scripsisse piidet ; quia plurima cerno, 
Me quoqne qui feci judice, digna lint. 



TO THE 
RIGHT HONORABLE 

CHARLES, EARL OF DALKEITH, 

THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



INTRODUCTION. 

The way was long, the wind was cold, 
The Minstrel was infirm and old ; 
His withered cheek and tresses gray 
Seemed to have known a better day ; 
The harp, his sole remaining joy. 



Was carried by an orphan boy. 
The last of all the bards was he, 
Who sung of Border chivalry ; 
For, well-a-day ! their date was fled, 
His tuneful brethren all were dead; 
And he, neglected and oppressed, 
Wished to be with them and at rest. 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



No more on prancing palfrey borne, 

He carolled, light as lark at morn ; 

No longer courted and caressed, 

High placed in hall, a welcome guest, 

He poured, to lord and lady gay. 

The unpremeditated lay : 

Old times were changed, old manners gone 

A stranger filled the Stuarts' throne : 

The bigots of the iron time 

Had called his harmless art a crime. 

A wandering harper, scorned and poor. 

He begged his bread from door to door. 

And tuned, to please a peasant's ear. 

The harp a king had loved to hear. 

He passed where Newark's stately tower' 
Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower : 
The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye — 
No humbler resting-place was nigh. 
With hesitating step at last 
The embattled portal arch he passed. 
Whose ponderous grate and massy bar 
Had oft rolled back the tide of war. 
But never closed the iron door 
Against the desolate and poor. 
The Duchess marked his weary pace, 
His timid mien, and reverend face. 
And bade her page the menials tell 
That they should tend the' old man well : 
For she had known adversity. 
Though born in such a high degree ; 
In pride of power, in beauty's bloom, 
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb ! 

When kindness had his wants supplied, 
And the old man was gratified. 
Began to rise his minsti^el pride ; 
And he began to talk anon 
Of good Earl Francis, dead and gone. 



And of Earl Walter, rest him God ! 

A braver ne'er to battle rode ; 

And how full many a tale he knew 

Of the old warriors of Buccleuch : 

And, would the noble Duchess deign 

To listen to an old man's strain, 

Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak. 

He thought even yet, the sooth to speak, 

That, if she loved the harp to hear. 

He covdd make music to her ear. 

The humble boon was soon obtained ; 

The aged Minstrel audience gained. 

But when he reached the room of state 

Where she with all her ladies sate, 

Perchance he wished his boon denied : 

For, when to tune his harp he tried. 

His trembling hand had lost the ease 

Which marks security to please ; 

And scenes, long past, of joy and pain 

Came wildering o'er his aged brain — 

He tried to tune his harp in vain. 

The pitying Duchess praised its chime. 

And gave him heart, and gave him time. 

Till every string's according glee 

Was blended into harmony. 

And then, he said, he would full fain 

He could recall an ancient strain 

He never thought to sing again. 

It was not framed for village churls. 

But for high dames and mighty earls ; 

He had played it to King Charles the Good 

When he kept court in Holyrood ; 

And much he wished, yet feared, to try 

The long-forgotten melody. 

Amid the strings his fingers strayed, 

And an uncertain warbling made, 

And oft he shook his hoary head. 

But when he caught the measure wild, 




THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 










The old man raised his face and smiled ; 

And lightened up his faded eye 

With all a poet's ecstasy ! 

In varying cadence, soft or strong, 

He swept the sounding chords along: 

The present scene, the future lot, 

His toils, his wants, were all forgot ; 

Cold diffidence and age's frost 

In the full tide of song were lost ; 

Each blank, in faithless memory void, 

The poet's glowing thought supplied ; 

And, while his harp responsive rung, 

'T was thus the Latest Minstrel sung. 



5E^e 3Lag of tl^e ILast JHmstrel. 



CANTO FIRST. 
I. 



The feast was over in Branksome tower, 
And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower, 



Her bower that was guarded by word and by 

spell. 
Deadly to hear, and deadly to tell — 
Jesu Maria, shield us well ! 
No living wight, save the Ladye alone. 
Had dared to cross the threshold stone. 

II. 

The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all : 

Knight and page and household squire 
Loitered through the lofty hall, 

Or crowded round the ample fire : 
The stag-hounds, weary with the chase, 

Lay stretched upon the rushy floor, 
And urged in dreams the forest race. 

From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-moor. 



Nine-and-twenty knights of fame 

Hung their shields in Branksome Hall ; 

Nine-and-twenty squires of name 

Brought them their steeds to bower from 
stall : 



SCOTT'S POETICAL IVOEKS. 



Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall 
Waited duteous on them all : 
They were all knights of mettle true, 
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch. 



Ten of them were sheathed in steel, 
With belted sword and spur on heel ; 
They quitted not their harness bright, 
Neither by day nor yet by night : 

They lay down to rest, 

With corselet laced, 
Pillowed on buckler cold and hard; 

They carved at the meal 

With gloves of steel. 
And they drank the red wine through the 
helmet barred. 



Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men. 
Waited the beck of the warders ten ; 
Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight, 
Stood saddled in stable day and night, 
Barded with frontlet of steel, 1 trow. 
And with Jedwood-axe at saddle-bow ; 
A hundred more fed free in stall : — 
Such was the custom of Branksome Hall. 



Why do these steeds stand ready dight ? 
Why watch these warriors armed by night? 



They watch to hear the bloodhound baying ; 

They watch to hear the war-horn braying ; 

To see Saint George's red cross streaming, 

To see the midnight beacon gleaming ; 

They watch against Southern force and guile, 
Lest Scroop or Howard or Percy's powers 
Threaten Branksome's lordly towers. 

From Wark worth or Naworth or merry 
Carlisle. 



Such is the custom of Branksome Hall. 

Many a valiant knight is here; 
But he, the chieftain of them all. 
His sword hangs rusting on the wall 

Beside his broken spear. 
Bards long shall tell 
How Lord Walter fell ! 
When startled burghers fled afar 
The furies of the Border war. 
When the streets of high Dunedin 
Saw lances gleam and falchions redden. 
And heard the slogan's deadly yell, — 
Then the Chief of Branksome fell. 



Can piety the discord heal, 

Or stanch the death-feud's enmity ? 
Can Christian lore, can patriot zeal, 

Can love of blessed charity.'' 







iit ZJfjf^ 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



No ! vainly to each holy shrine 

In mutual pilgrimage they drew, 
Implored in vain the grace divine 

For chiefs their own red falchions slew. 
While Cessford owns the rule of Carr, 

While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, 
The slaughtered chiefs, the mortal jar, 
The havoc of the feudal war, 

Shall never, never be forgot ! 



In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier 
The warlike foresters had bent. 



Then fast the mother's tears did seek 
To dew the infant's kindling cheek. 



All loose her negligent attire, 

All loose her golden hair. 
Hung Margaret o'er her slaughtered sire 

And wept in wild despair. 
But not alone the bitter tear 

Had filial grief supplied, 
For hopeless love and anxious fear 

Had lent their mingled tide ; 
Nor in her mother's altered eye 




And many a flower and many a tear 

Old Teviot's maids and matrons lent : 
But o'er her warrior's bloody bier 
The Ladye drojDped nor flower nor tear ! 
Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the slain. 

Had locked the source of softer woe. 
And burning pride and high disdain 

Forbade the rising tear to flow ; 
Until, amid his sorrowing clan. 

Her son lisped from the nurse's knee. 
' And if I live to be a man. 

My father's death revenged shall be ! " 



Dared she to look for sympathy. 
Her lover 'gainst her father's clan 

With Carr in arms had stood, 
When Mathouse-burn to Melrose ran 

All purple with their blood ; 
And well she knew her mother dread. 
Before Lord Cranstoun she should wed, 
Would see her on her dying bed. 



Of noble race the Ladye came ; 
Her father was a clerk of fame 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Of Bethune's line of Picardie : 
He learned the art that none may name 

In Padua, far beyond the sea. 
Men said he changed his mortal frame 

By feat of magic mystery ; 
For when in studious mood he paced 

Saint Andrew's cloistered hall, 
His form no darkening shadow traced 

Upon the sunny wall ! ^ 



From the voice of the coming storm, 

The Ladye knew it well ! 
It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke, 

And he called on the Spirit of the Fell. 



RIVER SPIRIT. 




And of his skill, as bards avow. 

He taught that Ladye fair, 
Till to her bidding she could bow 

The viewless forms of air. 
And now she sits in secret bower. 
In old Lord David's western tower. 
And listens to a heavy sound 
That moans the mossy turrets round. 
Is it the roar of Teviot's tide, 
That chafes against the scaur's red side ? 
Is it the wind, that swings the oaks? 
Is it the echo from the rocks ? 
What may it be, the heavy sound. 
That moans old Branksome's turrets round? 

XIII. 

At the sullen, moaning sound 

The ban-dogs bay and howl. 
And from the turrets round 

Loud whoops the startled owl. 
In the hall, both squire and knight 

Swore that a storm was near. 
And looked forth to view the night ; 

But the nisfht was still and clear ! 



From the sound of Teviot's tide. 
Chafing with the mountain's side. 
From the groan of the wind-swung oak, 
From the sullen echo of the rock, 



' Sleep'.st tliou, brother? ' 

MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. 

' Brother, nay — 
On my hills the moonbeams play. 
From Craik-cross to Skelfhill-pen,— 
By every rill, in every glen. 
Merry elves their morris pacing, 

To aerial minstrelsy, 
^: Emerald rings on brown heath tracing, 

Trip it deft and merrily. 
Up, and mark their nimble feet ! 
Lip, and list their music sweet ! ' 



RIVER SPIRIT. 

• Tears of an imprisoned maiden 
Mix with my polluted stream; 
Margaret of Branksome, sorrow-laden, 
Mourns beneath the moon's pale 
beam. 
Tell me. thou who view'st the stars, 
When shall cease these feudal jars ? 
What shall be the maiden's fate ? 
Who shall be the maiden's mate ? ' 



MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. 

' Arthur's slow wain his course cloth roll 

In utter darkness round the pole ; 

The Northern Bear lowers black and grim. 

Orion's studded belt is dim ; 

Twinkling faint, and distant far, 

Shimmers through mist each planet star; 

111 may I read their high decree : 
But no kind iniiuence deign they shower 
On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower 

Till pride be quelled and love be free.' 

XVIII. 

The unearthly voices ceased. 

And the heavy sound was still ; 
It died on the river's breast. 

It died oh the side of the hill. 
But round Lord David's tower 

The sound still floated near ; 
For it rung in the Ladye's bower. 

And it rung in the Ladye's ear. 
She raised her stately head. 

And her heart throbbed high with pride : 
' Your mountains shall bend 



THE LA Y OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 




And your streams ascend. 

Ere Margaret lie our foeman's bride ! 



The Ladye sought the lofty hall, 

Where many a bold retainer lay. 
And with jocund din among them all 

Her son pursued his infant play. 
A fancied moss-trooper, the boy 

The truncheon of a spear bestrode. 
And round the hall right merrily 

In mimic foray rode. 
Even bearded knights, in arms grown old, 

Share in his frolic gambols bore, 
Albeit their hearts of rugged mould 

Were stubborn as the steel they wore. 
For the gray warriors prophesied 

How the brave boy in future war 
Should tame the Unicorn's pride. 

Exalt the Crescents and the Star. 



The Ladye forgot her purpose high 

One moment and no more. 
One moment gazed with a mother's eye 

As she paused at the arched door;' 
Then from amid the armed train 
She called to her William of Deloraine. 



A stark moss-trooping Scott was he 
As e'er couched Border lance by knee : 
Through Solway Sands, through Tarras 

Moss, 
Blindfold he knew the paths to cross ; 
By wily turns, by desperate bounds. 
Had baffled Percy's best bloodhounds ; 
In Eske or Liddel fords were none 
But he would ride them, one by one; 
Alike to him was time or tide. 



lO 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



December's snow or July's pride ; 

Alike to him was tide or time, 

Moonless midnight or matin prime : 

Steady of heart and stout of hand 

As ever drove prey from Cumberland ; 

Five times outlawed had he been 

By England's king and Scotland's queen. 



' Sir William of Deloraine, good at need, 
Mount thee on the wightest steed; 
Spare not to spur nor stint to ride 
Until thou come to fair Tweedside ; 
And in Melrose's holy pile 
Seek thou the Monk of Saint Mary's aisle. 
Greet the father well from me ; 

Say that the fated hour is come, 
And to-night he shall watch with thee, 

To win the treasure of the tomb : 
For this will be Saint Michael's night, 
And though stars be dim the moon is 

bright. 
And the cross of bloody red 
Will point to the grave of the mighty dead. 

XXIII. 

* What he gives thee, see thou keep ; 
Stay not thou for food or sleep : 
Be it scroll or be it book, 
Into it, knight, thou must not look ; 
If thou readest, thou art lorn ! 
Better hadst thou ne'er been born ! ' 

XXIV'. 

' O swiftly can speed my dapple-gray steed, 

Which drinks of the Teviot clear; 
Ere break of day,' the warrior gan say, 

' Again will I be here : 
And safer by none may thy errand be done 

Than, noble dame, by me ; 
Letter nor line know I never one, 

Were 't my neck-verse at Hairibee.' 

XXV. 

Soon in his saddle sate he fast. 
And soon the steep descent he passed, 
Soon crossed the sounding barbican, 
And soon the Teviot side he won. 
Eastward the wooded path he rode. 
Green hazels o'er his basnet nod ; 
He passed the Peel of Goldiland, 
And crossed old Borth wick's roaring strand ; 
Dimly he viewed the Moat-hill's mound. 
Where Druid shades still Hitted round : 
In Hawick twinkled many a light ; 
Behind him soon they set in night; 
And soon he spurred his courser keen 
Beneath the tower of Hazeldean. 



The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark : 
' Stand, ho ! thou courier of the dark.' 
' For Branksome, ho ! ' the knight rejoined. 
And left the friendly tower behind. 
He turned him now from Teviotside, 

And, guided by the tinkling rill. 
Northward the dark ascent did ride. 

And gained the moor at Horseliehill ; 
Broad on the left before him lay 
For many a mile the Roman way. 



A moment now he slacked his speed, 
A moment breathed his panting steed, 
Drew saddle-girth and corselet-band. 
And loosened in the sheath his brand. 
On Minto-crags the moonbeams glint. 
Where Barnhill hewed his bed of flint, 
Who flung his outlawed limbs to rest 
Where falcons hang their giddy nest 
Mid cliffs from whence his eagle eye 
For many a league his prey could spy ; 
Cliffs doubling, on their echoes borne. 
The terrors of the robber's horn ; 
Cliffs which for many a later year 
The warbling Doric reed shall hear. 
When some sad swain shall teach the grove 
Arnbition is no cure for love. 

XXVIII. 

Unchallenged, thence passed Deloraine 
To ancient Riddel's fair domain. 

Where Aill, from mountains freed, 
Down from the lakes did raving come ; 
Each wave was crested with tawny foam. 

Like the mane of a chestnut steed. 
In vain ! no torrent, deep or broad, 
Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road. 



At the first plunge the horse sunk low, 

And the water broke o'er the saddle-bow: 

Above the foaming tide, I ween. 

Scarce half the charger's neck was seen ; 

For he was barded from counter to tail, 

And the rider was armed complete in mail ; 

Never heavier man and horse 

Stemmed a midnight torrent's force. 

The warrior's very plume, I say. 

Was daggled by the dashing spray: 

Yet, through good heart and Our Ladye's 

grace. 
At length he gained the landing-place. 



Now Bowden Moor the march-man won, 
And sternly shook his plumed head. 



THE LAY OF THE TAST MINSTREL. 



I I 



As glanced his eye o'er Halidon ; 

For on his soul the slaughter red 
Of that unhallowed morn arose, 
When first the Scott and Carr were foes 
When royal James beheld the fray, 
Prize to the victor of the clay ; 
When Home and Douglas in the van 
Bore down Buccleuch's retiring clan. 
Till gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear 
Reeked on dark Elliot's Border spear. 



In bitter mood he spurred fast, 

And soon the hated heath was past ; 

And far beneath, in lustre wan, 

Old Melros' rose and fair Tweed ran : 

Like some tall rock with lichens gray, 

Seemed, dimly huge, the dark Abbaye. 

When Hawick he passed had curfew rung. 

Now midnight lauds were in Melrose sung. 

The sound upon the titful gale 

In solemn wise did rise and fail. 

Like that wild harp whose magic tone 

Is wakened by the winds alone. 

But when Melrose he reached 't was silence 

all; 
He meetly stabled his steed in stall. 
And sought the convent's lonelv wall. 



And how old age and wandering long 

Had done his hand and harp some wrong. 

The Duchess, and her daughters fair. 

And every gentle lady there, 

Each after each, in due degree, 

Gave praises to his melody ; 

His hand was true, his voice was clear, 

And much they longed the rest to hear. 

Encouraged thuSj the aged man 

After meet rest ajjain began. 



^\)t ilag of tijc Hast iflinjstrel. 



CANTO SECOND. 



\v thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright^ 
Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; 
For the gay beams of lightsome day 
Gild but to flout the ruins gray. 



Here paused the harp; and with its 

swell 
The Master's fire and courage fell : 
Dejectedly and low he bowed. 
And, gazing timid on the crowd. 
He seemed to seek in every eye 
If they approved his minstrelsy: 
And, diffident of present praise. 
Somewhat he spoke of former daws, 








12 



scorrs poetical works. 




ST! 







m 




'\toi!mit yJin/iuhi '1 ii'iii* 


SwA 





When the broken arches are black in night, 
And each shafted oriel glimmers white ; 
When the cold light's uncertain shower 
Streams on the ruined central tower ; 
When buttress and buttress, alternately, 
Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; 
When silver edges the imagery, 
And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die : 
When distant Tweed is heard to rave. 
And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's 

grave, 
Then go — but go alone the while — 
Then view Saint David's ruined pile; 
And, home returning, soothly swear 
Was never scene so sad and fair ! 



Short halt did Deloraine make there; 
Little recked he of the scene so fair : 
With dagger's hilt on the wicket strong 
He struck full loud, and struck full long. 
The porter hvn'ried to the gate : 
' Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late ? ' 
' From Branksome I,' the warrior cried ; 
And straight the wicket opened wide : 
For Branksome's chiefs had in battle stood 
To fence the rights of fair Melrose ; 



And lands and livings, many a rood. 

Had gifted the shrine for their souls' 
repose. 



Bold Deloraine his errand said; 

The porter bent his humble head ; 

With torch in hand, and feet unshod, 

And noiseless step, the path he trod : 

The arched cloister, far and wide. 

Rang to the warrior's clanking stride, 

Till, stooping low his lofty crest. 

He entered the cell of the ancient priest, 

And lifted his barred aventayle 

To hail the Monk of Saint Mary's aisle. 



' The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by 
me. 

Says that the fated hour is come, 
And that to-night I shall watch with thee, 

To win the treasure of the tomb.' 
From sackcloth couch the monk arose, 

With toil his stii^ened limbs he reared ; 
A hundred years had flung their snows 

On his thin locks and floating; beard. 



THE LA Y OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



And strangely on the knight looked he, 

And his blue eyes gleamed wild and wide : 
' And darest thou, warrior, seek to see 

What heaven and hell alike would hide ? 
My breast in belt of iron pent. 

With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn, 
For threescore years, in penance spent. 

My knees those flinty stones have worn ; 
Yet all too little to atone 
For knowing what should ne'er be known. 
Wouldst thou thy every future year 

Ih ceaseless prayer and penance drie. 
Yet wait thy latter end with fear — 

Then, daring warrior, follow me ! ' 

VI. 

' Penance, father, will I none ; 

Prayer know I hardly one ; 

For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry. 

Save to patter an Ave Mary, 

When I ride on a Border foray. 

Other prayer can I none ; 

So speed me my errand, and let me be gone." 

VII. 

Again on the knight looked the churchman 
old. 
And again he sighed heavily ; 



For he had himself been a warrior bold, 

And fought in Spain and Italy. 
And he thought on the days that were long 

since by. 
When his limbs were strong and his courage 

was high : 
Now, slow and faint, he led the way 
Where, cloistered round, the garden lay ; 
The pillared arches were over their head, 
And beneath their feet were the bones of 

the dead. 



Spreading herbs and flowerets bright 
Glistened with the dew of night ; 
Nor herb nor floweret glistened there 
But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair. 
The monk gazed long on the lovely moon. 

Then into the night he looked forth ; 
And red and bright the streamers light 

Were dancing in the glowing north. 
So had he seen, in fair Castile, 

The youth in glittering scjuadrons start, 
Sudden the flying jennet wheel. 

And hurl the unexpected dart. 
He knew, by the streamers that shot so 

bright. 
That spirits were riding the northern light. 




H 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'^ifi^~ 









Whose image on the glass 
was dyed ; 

Full in the midst, his cross 
of red 

Triumphant Michael bran- 
dished, 
And trampled the Apos- 
tate's pride. 

The moonbeam kissed the 
holy pane, 

And threw on the pavement 
a bloodv stain. 



By a steel-clenched postern door 

They entered now the chancel tall : 
The darkened roof rose high aloof 

On pillars lofty and light and small : 
The keystone that locked each ribbed aisle 
Was a fleur-de-lys or a quatre-feuille ; 
The corbels were carved grotesque and grim : 
And the pillars, with clustered shafts so 

trim. 
With base and with capital flourished 

around, 
Seemed bundles of lances which garlands 

had bound. 

X. 

Full many a scutcheon and banner riven 
Shook to'the cold night-wind of heaven, 

Ai'ound the screened altar's pale : 
And there the dying lamps did burn 
Before thy low and lonely urn, 
O gallant Chief of Otterburne ! 

And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale ! 
O fading honors of the dead ! 
O high ambition lowly laid ! 



The moon on the east oriel shone 
Through slender shafts of shapely stone 
By fbliaged tracery com- 
bined ; 
Thou wouldst have thouglit 

some fairy's hand 
'Twixt poplars straight the 

osier wand 
In many a freakish knot had 

twined. 
Then framed a spell when the 

work was done. 
And changed the willow 

wreaths to stone. 
The silver light, so pale and 

faint. 
Showed many a ]Mophet and 

many a saint. 



They sate them down on a marble stone — 

A Scottish monarch slept below : 
Thus spoke the monk in solemn tone : 

' I was not always a man of woe ; 
For Paynim countries I have trod. 
And fought beneath the Cross of God : 
Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear. 
And their iron clang sounds strange to my 
ear. 

XIII. 

' In these far climes it was my lot 

To meet the wondrous Michael Scott ; 

A wizard of such dreaded fame 
That when, in Salamanca's cave. 
Him listed his magic wand to wave. 

The bells would ring in Notre Dame ! 
Some of his skill he taught to me ; 
And, warrior, I could say to thee 
The words that cleft Eildon Hills in three, 

And bridled the Tweed w-ith a curb of 
stone : 

But to speak them were a deadly sin. 
And for having but thought them my heart 
within 

A treble penance must be done. 



' When Michael lay on his dying bed. 
His conscience was awakened ; 




THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



He bethought him of his sinful deed. 
And he gave me a sign to come with speed : 
I was in Spain when the morning rose, 
But I stood by his bed ere evening close. 
The words may not again be said 
That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid ; 
They would rend this Abbaye's massy nave, 
And pile it in heaps above his grave. 



' 1 swore to bury his Mighty Book, 
That never mortal might therein look; 
And never to tell where it was hid. 
Save at his Chief of Branksome's need; 
And when that need was past and o'er. 
Again the volume to restore. , 
I buried him on Saint Michael's night. 
When the bell tolled one and the moon was 

bright, 
And I dug his chamber among the dead. 
When the floor of the chancel was stained 

red, 
That his patron's cross might over him 

wave. 
And scare the fiends from tlie wizard's irrave. 



' It was a night of woe and dread 
When Michael in the tomb 1 laid; 
Strange sounds along the chancel jDassed, 
The banners waved without a blast ' — 
Still spoke the monk, when tlie bell tolled 

one ! — 
I tell you, that a braver man 
Than William of Ueloraine, good at need, 
Against a foe ne'er spurred a steed : 



Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread. 
And his hair did bristle upon his head. 



' Lo, warrior ! now, the cross of red 
Points to the grave of the mighty dead : 
Within it burns a wondrous light. 
To chase the spirits that love the night ; 
That lamp shall burn unquenchably. 
Until the eternal doom shall be.' 
Slow moved the monk to tlie broad flag- 
stone 
Which the bloody cross was traced upon : 
He pointed to a secret nook ; 
An iron bar the warrior took ; 
And the monk made a sign with his with- 
ered hand. 
The grave's huge portal to expand. 



With beating heart to the task he went. 
His sinewy frame o'er the gravestone bent. 
With bar of iron lieaved amain 
Till the toil-drops fell from his brows like 

rain. 
It was by dint of passing strength 
That he moved the massy stone at length. 
I would you had been there to see 
How the light broke forth so gloriously, 
Streamed upward to the chancel roof. 
And through the galleries far aloof ! 
No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright : 
It shone like heaven's own blessed light. 

And, issuing from the tomb, 
Showed the monk's cowl and visage pale. 



"%^ 



% 




^^^^ 



i6 



SCOJ'T'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Danced on the dark-browed warrior's mail 
And kissed his waving plume. 



Before their eyes the wizard lay, 
As if he had not been dead a day. 
His hoary beard in silver rolled, 
He seemed some seventy winters old ; 
A palmer's amice wrapped him round, 




!^^S 



With a wrought Spanish baldric bound, 
Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea : 
His left hand held his Book of Might. 
A silver cross was in his right; 

The lamp was placed beside his knee. 
High and majestic was his look. 
At which the fellest fiends had shook. 
And all unruffled was his face : 
They trusted his soul had gotten grace. 



Often had William of L)eloraine 

Rode through the battle's bloody plain, 

And trampled down the warriors slain. 

And neither known remorse nor awe. 
Yet now remorse and awe he owned : 
His breath came thick, his head swam round. 

When this strange scene of death he saw. 
Bewildered and unnerved he stood, 
And the priest prayed fervently and loud : 
With eyes averted prayed he ; 
He might not endure the sight to see 
Of the man lie b.ad loved so brotherlv. 



And when the priest his death-prayer had 

prayed. 
Thus unto Deloraine he said : 
' Now, speed thee what thou hast to do, 
Or, warrior, we may dearly rue ; 
For those thou mayst not look upon 
Are gathering fast round the yawning stone I " 
Then Deloraine in terror took 

From the cold hand the Mighty Book. 

With iron clasped and with iron bound : 

He thought, as he took it, the dead man 
frowned ; 
' But the glare of the sepulchral light 

Perchance had dazzled the warrior's sight. 



When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, 
The night returned in double gloom, 
For the moon had gone down and the 

stars were few ; 
And as the knight and priest withdrew. 
With wavering steps and dizzy brain, 
They hardly might the postern gain. 
'T is said, as through the aisles they 

passed. 
They heard strange noises on the blast ; 
And through the cloister-galleries small, 
Which at mid-height thread the chancel 

wall. 
Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran. 
And voices unlike the voice of man. 
As if the fiends kept holiday 
Because these spells were brought to day. 
I cannot tell how the truth may be ; 
I say the tale as 't was said to me. 

XXIII. 

' Now, hie thee hence,' the father said. 
' And when we are on death-bed laid, 
O may our dear Ladye and sweet Saint John 
Foro-ive our souls for the deed we have 

done ! ' 
The monk returned him to his cell. 

And many a prayer and penance sped : 
When the convent' met at the noontide bell, 

The Monk of Saint Mary's aisle was dead ! 
Before the cross was the body laid. 
With hands clasped fast, as if still he prayed. 



The knight breathed free in the morning 

wind, 
And strove his hardihood to find : 
He was glad when he passed the tombstones 

gray 
Which girdle round the fair Abbaye ; 
For the'mystic book, to his bosom pressed. 
Felt like a' load upon his breast. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MLVSIRE/.. 



1/ 




And his joints, with nerves of iron twined, 

Shook like the aspen-leaves in wind. 

Full fain was he when the dawn of day 

Began to brighten Cheviot gray ; 

He joyed to see the cheerful light. 

And he said Ave Mary as well as he might. 



The sun had brightened Cheviot gray, 

The sun had brightened the Carter's side ; 
And soon beneath the rising day 

Smiled Branksome towers and Teviot's 
tide. 
The wild birds told their warbling tale, 

And wakened every flower that blows : 
And peeped forth the violet pale, 

And spread her breast the mountain rose. 
And lovelier than the rose so red. 

Yet paler than the violet pale. 
She early left her sleepless bed, 

The fairest maid of Teviotdale. 



Why does fair Margaret so early awake, 

And don her kirtle so hastilie ; 
And the silken knots, which in hurry she 
would make, 

Why tremble her slender fingers to tie .'' 
Why does she stop and look often around, 

As she glides down the secret stair ; 
And why does she pat the shaggy blood- 
hound. 

As he rouses him up from his lair ; 
And, though she passes the postern alone, 
Whv is not the watchman's bugle blown? 

XXVII. 

The ladye steps in doubt and dread 
Lest her watchful mother hear her tread ; 
The ladye caresses the rough bloodhound 
Lest his voice should waken the castle round 
The watchman's bugle is not blown. 
For he was her foster-father's son ; 



i8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And she glides through the greenwood at 

dawn of h'ght 
To meet Baron Henry, her own true knight. 

XXVIII. 
The knight and ladye fair are met, 
And under the hawthorn's boughs are set. 
A fairer pair were never seen 
To meet beneath the hawthorn green. 
He was stately and young and tall. 
Dreaded in battle and loved in hall ; 
And she, when love, scarce told, scarce hid, 
Lent to her cheek a livelier red. 



And said that she would die a maid : — 
Yet, might the bloody feud be stayed, 
Henry of Cranstoun, and only he, 
Margaret of Branksome's choice should be. 



Alas ! fair dames, your hopes are vain ! 
My harp has lost the enchanting strain ; 

Its lightness would my age reprove : 
My hairs are gray, my limbs are old, 
My heart is dead, my veins are cold : 

I may not, must not, sing of love. 







-w-^\ 





.%'-. 



-p^^is^S 



Sc^& j-^-lt^,^^ 



When the lialf sigh her swelling breast 
Against the silken ribbon pressed, 
When her blue eyes their secret told. 
Though shaded by her locks of gold- — 
Where would you find the peerless fair 
With Margaret of Branksome might com- 
pare ! 



And now, fair dames, methinks I see 

You listen to my minstrelsy ; 

Your waving locks ye backward 'throw. 

And sidelong bend your necks of snow. 

Ye ween to hear a melting tale 

Of two true lovers in a dale ; 

And how the knight, with tender fire, 

To paint his faithful passion strove, 
Swore he might at her feet expire, 

But never, never cease to love ; 
And how she blushed, and how she sighed 
And. half consenting, half denied. 



xxxi. 
Beneath an oak, mossed o'er by eld, 
The Baron's dwarf his courser held. 

And held his crested helm and spear: 
That dwarf was scarce an earthly man. 
If the tales were true that of him ran 

Through all the Border far and near. 
'Twas said, when the Baron a-hunting rode 
Through Reedsdale's glens, but rarely trod. 
He heard a voice cry, ' Lost I lost ! lost ! ' 
And, like tennis-ball by racket tossed, 

A leap of thirty feet and three 
Made from the gorse this elfin shape, 
Distorted like some dwarfish ape. 

And lighted at Lord Cranstoun's knee. 
Lord Cranstoun was some whit dismayed ; 
'T is said that five good miles he rade, 

To rid him of his company ; 
But where he rode one mile,' the dwarf ran 

four. 
And the dwarf was first at the castle door. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



19 




V I* 



XXXII. 

Use lessens marvel, it is said : 
This elfish dwarf with the Baron staid : 
Little he ate, and less he spoke, 
Nor mingled with the menial flock : 



And oft apart his arms he tossed, 
And often muttered, ' Lost ! lost ! lost ! 

He was waspish, arch, and litherlie. 

But well Lord Cranstoun served he : 
And he of his service was full fain : 



20 



SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. 



For once he had been ta'en or slain, 

An it had not been for his ministry. 
All between Home and Hermitage 
Talked of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin Page. 



For the Baron went on pilgrimage, 
And took with him this elfish page, 

To Mary's Chapel of the Lowes : 
For there, beside Our Ladye's lake, 
An offering he had sworn to make. 

And he would pay his vows. 
But the Ladye of Branksome gathered a band 
Of the best that would ride at her command ; 

The trysting-place was Newark Lee. 
Wat of Harden came thither amain. 
And thither came John of Thirlestane, 
And thither came William of Deloraine ; 

Thev were three hundred spears and three. 
Through Douglas-burn, up Yarrow stream. 
Their horses prance, their lances gleam. 
They came to Saint Mary's lake ere day, 
But the chapel was void and the Baron away. 
They burned the chapel for very rage, 
And cursed Lord Cranstoun's Goblin Page 



And now, in Branksome's good greenwood. 
As under the aged oak he stood, 
The Baron's courser pricks his ears, 
As if a distant noise he hears. 



The dwarf waves his long lean arm on high. 
And signs to the lovers to part and fly ; 
No time was then to vow or sigh. 
Fair Margaret through the hazel-grove 
Flew like the startled cushat-dove : 
The dwarf the stirrup held and rein : 
Vaulted the knight on his steed amain. 
And, pondering deep that morning's scene. 
Rode eastward througli the hawthorns 



While thus he poured the lengthened tale. 
The Minstrel's voice began to fail. 
Full slyly smiled the observant page, 
And gave the withered hand of age 
A goblet, crowned with mighty wine. 
The blood of Velez' scorched vine. 
He raised the silver cup on high. 
And, while the big drop filled his eye. 
Prayed God to bless the Duchess long, 
And all who cheered a son of song. 
The attending maidens smiled to see 
How long, how deep, how zealously. 
The precious juice the Minstrel cpiaffed : 
And he, emboldened by the draught, 
Looked gayly back to them and laughed. 
The cordial nectar of the bowl 
Swelled his old veins and cheered his soul ; 
A lighter, livelier prelude ran. 
Ere thus his tale a^ain began. 




THE LAY OF THE LAST ilf/JVSTREL. 



21 




E})£ ILag at tije East ftltnstrcl. 



CANTO THIRD. 



And said I that my limbs were old, 
And said I that my blood was cold, 
And that my kindly fire was tied, 
And my poor withered heart was dead, 

And that I might not sing of love ? — 
How could I to the dearest theme 
That ever warmed a minstrel's dream. 

So foul, so false a recreant prove ? 
How could I name love's very name, 
Nor wake my heart to notes of flame ? 



In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed: 

In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; 

In halls, in gay attire is seen : 

In hamlets, dances on the green. 

Love rules the court, the camp, the grove. 

And men below, and saints above ; 

For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 



So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween. 
While, pondering deep the tender scene. 
He rode through Branksome's hawthorn 

green. 
But the page shouted wild and shrill. 

And scarce his helmet could he don. 
When downward from the shady hill 

A stately knight came pricking on. 
That warrior's steed, so dapple-gray. 
Was dark with sweat and splashed with clay. 

His armor red with many a stain : 
He seemed in such a weary plight. 
As if he had ridden the livelong night ; 

For it was William of Deloraine. 



But no whit weary did he seem, 

When, dancing in the sunny beam. 

He marked the crane on the Baron's crest ; 

For his ready spear was in his rest. 

Few were the words, and stern and liigli. 

That marked the foemen's feudal hate ; 
For question tierce and proud reph' 

Gave signal soon of dire debate. 



SCOTT S POETICAL ll'ORKS. 



Their very coursers seemed to know- 
That each was other's mortal foe. 
And snorted fire when wheeled around 
To o-ive each knight his vantage-ground. 



The dwarf espied the Mighty Book ! 
Much he marvelled a knight of pride 
Like a book-bosomed priest should ride : 
He thought not to search or stanch the wound 
Until the secret he had found. 



In rapid round the Baron bent ; 

He sighed a sigh and prayed a prayer ; 
The prayer was to his patron saint, 

The sigh was to his ladye fair. 
Stout Deloraine nor sighed nor prayed, 
Nor saint nor ladye called to aid ; 
But he stooped his head, and, couched his 

spear, 
And spurred his steed to full career.^ 
The meeting of these champions proud 
Seemed like the bursting thunder-cloud. 



Stern was the dint the Borderer lent I 

The stately Baron backwards bent, 

Bent backwards to his horse's tail, 

And his plumes went scattering on the gale ; 

The tough ash spear, so stout and true, 

Into a thousand tlinders flew. 

But Cranstoun's lance, of more avail. 

Pierced through, like silk, the Borderers 

mail ; 
Through shield and jack and acton passed. 
Deep in his bosom broke at last. 
Still sate the warrior saddle-fast. 
Till, stumbling in the mortal shock, 
Down went the steed, the girthing broke, 
Hurled on a heap lay man and horse. 
The Baron onward passed his course. 
Nor knew — so giddy rolled his brain — 
His foe lay stretched upon the plain. 

vn. 

l]ut when he reined his courser round. 
And saw his foeman on the ground 

Lie senseless as the bloody clay. 
He bade his page to stanch the wound. 

And there beside the warrior stay, 
And tend him in his doubtful state. 
And lead him to Branksome castle-gate : 
His noble mind was inly moved _ 
For the kinsman of the maid he loved. 
'This shalt thou do without delay : 
No longer here myself may stay ; 
Unless the swifter I speed away, 
Short shrift will be at my dving day. 

vin. 
Away in speed Lord Cranstoun rode ; 
The 'Goblin Page behind abode •,; 
His lord's command he ne'er withstood. 
Though small his pleasure to do good. 
As the corselet off he took, 



The iron band, the iron clasp. 

Resisted long the elfin grasp : 

For when the iirst he had undone, 

It closed as he the next begun. 

Those iron clasps, that iron band, 

Would not yield to unchristened hand 

Till he smeared the cover o'er 

With the Borderer's curdled gore ; 

A moment then the volume spread. 

And one short spell therein he read. . 

It had much of glamour might, 

Could make a ladye seem a knight, 

The cobwebs on a dungeon wall 

Seem tapestry in lordly hall, 

A nutshell seem a gilded barge, 

A sheeling seem a palace large. 

And youth seem age, and age seem youth 

All was delusion, nought was truth. 



He had not read another spell, 

When on his cheek a buffet fell, 

So fierce, it stretched him on the plain 

Beside the wounded Deloraine. ♦ 

From the ground he rose dismayed, 

And shook his huge and matted head ; 

One word he muttered and no more, 

' Man of age, thou smitest sore ! ' 

No more the elfin page durst try 

Into the wondrous book to pry ; 

The c4asps, though smeared with Christian 

gore, 
Shut faster than they were before. 
He hid it underneath his cloak. — 
Now, if you ask who gave the stroke, 
I cannot tell, so mot I thrive ; 
It was not given bv man alive. 



Unwillingly himself he addressed 

To do his master's high behest : 

He lifted up the living corse, 

And laid it on the weary horse; 

He led him into Branksome Hall 

Before the beards of the warders all. 

And each did after swear and say 

There only passed a wain of hay. 

He took him to Lord David's tower, 

Even to the Ladye's secret bower ; 

And. but that stronger spells were spread, 

And the door might not be opened, 

He had laid him on her very bed. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



23 




'\:-'^t}<M-ilJ 



Whate'er he did of gramarye 

Was always done maliciousl)' ; 

He flung the warrior on the ground. 

And the blood welled freshly from the wound. 



As he repassed the outer court. 

He spied the fair young child at sport : 

He thought to train him to the wood : 

For, at a word, be it understood. 

He was always for ill, and never for good. 

Seemed to the bov some comrade gay 

Led him forth to the woods to plav : 

On the drawbridge the .warders stout 

Saw a terrier and lurcher passing out 



He led the boy o'er bank and fell. 

Until they came to a woodland brook ; 
The running stream dissolved the spell 

And his own elfish shape he took. 
Could he have had his pleasure vild'e, 
He had crippled the joints of the noble child. 
Or, with his fingers long and lean. 
Had strangled him in fiendish spleen : 
But his awful mother he had in dread, 
And also his power was limited : 
So he but scowled on the startled child. 
And darted throujrh the forest wild : 



The woodland brook he bounding crossed, 
And laughed, and shouted, 'Lost! lost! 
lost !' 

XIV. 

Full sore amazed at the wondrous change, 

And frightened, as a qhild might be, 
At the wild yell and visage strange. 

And the dark words of gramarye, 
The child, amidst the forest bower. 
Stood rooted like a lily flower : 
And when at length, with trembling pace. 

He sought to find where Branksome lav. 
He feared to see that grisly face 

Glare from some xnicket on his way. 
Thus, starting oft, he journeyed on. 
And deeper in the wood is gone, — 
For aye the more he sought his way. 
The farther still he went astray, — 
Until he heard the mountains round 
Rmg to tlie baying of a iiound. 



And hark ! and hark ! the deep-mouthed bark 
Comes nigher still and nigher; 

Bursts on the path a dark bloodhound. 

His tawny muzzle tracked the ground. 
And his red eye shot fire. 

Soon as the wildered child saw he. 

He flew at him right furiouslie. 



'24 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORJCS. 




I ween you would have seen with joy 
The bearing of the gallant boy, 
When, worthy of his noble sire, 
His wet cheek glowed 'twixt fear and ire ! 
He faced the bloodhound manfully. 
And held his little bat on high ; 
So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid. 
At cautious distance hoarsely bayed, 

But still in act to spring ; 
When dashed an archer through the glade. 
And when he saw the hound was stayed, 

He drew his tough bowstring; 
But a rough voice cried, ' Shoot not, hoy! 
Ho ! shoot not, Edward, — 't is a boy ! ' 



Old England's sign, Saint 
, George's cross, 
His barret-cap did grace ; 
His bugle-horn hung by his 
side. 
All in a wolf-skin baldric 
tied ; 
And his short falchion, 

sharp and clear. 
Had pierced the throat of 
many a deer. 

XVII. 

His kirtle, made of forest 
green, 
Reached scantly to his 
knee ; 
And, at his belt, of arrows 
keen 
A furbished sheaf bore 
he; 
His buckler 
breadth r 
No longer fence had he ; 
He never counted him a man. 

Would strike below the knee : 
His slackened bow was in his hand. 
And the leash that was his bloodhound's 
band. 



He would not do the fair child harm, 

But held him with his powerful arm. 

That he might neither fight nor flee; 

For when the red cross spied he. 

The boy strove long and violently. 

' Now, by Saint George,' the archer cries, 

' Edward, methinks we have a prize ! 



scarce 
span. 



The speaker issued from 

the wood. 
And checked his fellow's 
surly mood. 
And quelled the ban- 
dog's ire : 
He was an English yeo- 
man good 
And born in Lancashire. 
Well could he hit a fallow- 
deer 
Five hundred feet him 
fro; 
With hand more true and 
eye more clear 
No archer bended bow. 
His coal-black hair, shorn 
round and close, 
.Set off his sun-burned 
face : 




THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



25 



This boy's fair face and courage free 
Siiow he is come of high degree.' 



XIX. 

• Yes ! I am come of high degree, 

For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch : 
And, if thou dost not set me free, 

False Southron, thou shalt dearly rue ! 
For Walter of Harden shall come with sjjeed. 
And William of Deloraine, good at need. 
And every Scott from Esk to Tweed ; 
And, if thou dost not let me go, 



Although the child was led away, 
In Branksome still he seemed to stay, 
For so the Dwarf his part did play : 
And, in the shape of that young boy, 
He wrought the castle much annoy. 
The comrades of the young Buccleucli 
He pinched and beat and overthrew : 
Nay, some of them he well-nigh slew. 
He tore Dame Maudlin's silken tire, 
And, as Sym Hall stood by the fire. 
He lighted the match of his bandelier, 
And wofuUy scorched the hackbuteer. 




^^e.' 



^ "VT >* 



- 8 ' ■-• 



Despite thy arrows and thy bow. 

I '11 have thee hanged to feed the crow ! ' 



It may be hardly thought or said. 
The rnischief that the urchin made, 
Till many of the castle guessed 
That the young baron was possessed ! 



. ' Gramercy for thy good-will, fair boy ! 
My mind was never set so high ; 
But if thou art chief of such a clan. 
And art the son of such a man. 
And ever comest to thy command. 

Our wardens had need to keep good order 
My bow of yew to a hazel wand, 

Thou 'It make them work upon the Border 
Meantime, be pleased to come with me. 
For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see ; 
I think our work is well begun, 
When we have taken thy father's son." 



Well I ween tJic charm he held 
The noble Ladye had soon dispelled, 
But she was deeply busied then 
To tend the wounded Deloraine. 
Much she wondered to find him lie 

On the stone threshold stretched along: 
She thought some spirit of the sky 

Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong. 
Because, despite her precept dread. 
Perchance he in the book had read ; 



26 



SCOTT'S POETICAL IVORKS. 



But the broken lance in his bosom stood, 
And it was earthly steel and wood. 



She drew the splinter from the wound. 

And with a charm she stanched the blood. 
She bade the gash be cleansed and bound : 

No longer by his couch she stood; 
But she has ta'en the broken lance, 

And washed it from the clotted gore, 

And salved the splinter o'er and o'er. 
William of Deloraine, in trance. 
Whene'er she turned it round and round. 
Twisted as if she galled his wound. 

Then to her maidens she did say. 
That he should be whole man and sound 

Within the course of a night and day. 
Full long she toiled, for she did rue 
Alishap to friend so stout and true. 



So passed the day ^ the evening fell, 
'Twas near the time of curfew bell: 
The air was mild, the wind was calm. 
The stream was smooth, the dew was balm 
E'en the rude watchman on the tower 
Enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour. 
Far more fair Margaret loved and blessed 
The hour of silence and of rest. 
On the high turret sitting lone. 
She waked at times the lute's soft tone. 
Touched a wild note, and all between 
Thought of the bower of hawthorns green. 
Her golden hair streamed free from band. 
Her fair cheek rested on her hand, 
Her blue eyes sought the west afar. 
For lovers love the western star. 



Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 

That rises slowly to her ken. 

And, spreading broad its wavering light, 

Shakes its loose tresses on the night? 

Is yon red glare the western star ? — 

O, 't is the beacon-blaze of war I 

Scarce could she draw her tightened breath. 

For well she knew the fire of death ! 



The warder viewed it blazing strong. 
And blew his war-note loud and long. 
Till, at the high and haughty sound. 
Rock, wood, and river rung around. 
The blast alarmed the festal hall. 
And startled forth the warriors all : 
Far downward in the castle-yard 
Full many a torch and cresset glared : 
And helms and plumes, confusedly tossed. 
Were in the blaze lialf seen, half lost; 



And spears in wild disorder shook. 
Like reeds beside a frozen brook. 



The seneschal, whose silver hair 

Was reddened by the torches' glare, 

Stood in the midst, with gesture proud, 

And issued forth his mandates loud : 

' On Penchryst glows a bale of fire. 

And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire; 

Ride out, ride out, 

The foe to scout ! 
Mount, mount for Branksome, every man I 
Thou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan, 

That ever are true and stout. 
Ye need not send to Liddesdale, 
For when they see the blazing bale 
Elliots and Armstrongs never fail. — 
Ride, Alton, ride, for death and life, 
And warn the warden of the strife ! — 
Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze. 
Our kin and clan and friends to raise ! ' 



Fair Margaret from the turret head 
Heard far below the coursers' tread, 

While loud the harness rung, 
As to their seats with clamor dread 

The ready horsemen sprung : 
And trampling hoofs, and iron coats, 
And leaders' voices, mingled notes, 
And out ! and out ! 
In hasty rout. 

The horsemen galloped forth : 
Dispersing to the south to scout. 

And east, and west, and north. 
To view their coming enemies. 
And warn their vassals and allies. 

xxi.x. 

The ready page with hurried hand 
Awaked the need-tire's slumbering brand. 

And ruddy blushed the heaven ; 
For a sheet of flame from the turret high 
Waved like a blood-flag on the sky. 

All flaring and uneven. 
And soon a score of fires, I ween, 
From height and hill and cliff were seen. 
Each with warlike tidings fraught: 
Each from each the signal caught : 
Each after each they glanced to sight, 
As stars arise upon the night. 
They gleamed on many a dusk\- tarn. 
Haunted by the lonely earn : 
On many a cairn's gray pyramid. 
Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid ; 
Ti,ll high Dunedin the blazes saw 
From Soltra and Dumpender Law. 
And Lothian heard the Regenfs order 
That all should bowne them for the Border. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MIA'STREL. 



2.7 




The livelong night in Branksome rang 
The ceaseless sound of steel : 

The castle-bell with backward clang^ 
Sent forth the larum peal. 



Was frequent heard the heavy jar. 
^\^lere massy stone and iron bar 
Were piled on echoing keep and tower. 
To whelm the foe with deadly shower : 
Was frequent heard the changins: guard. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And watchword from the sleepless ward 
While, wearied by the endless din, 
Bloodhound and ban-dog yelled within. 



The noble dame, amid the broil, 
Shared the gray seneschal's high toil. 
And spoke of danger with a smile, 
Cheered the young knights, and council sage 
Held with the chiefs of riper age. 
No tidings of the foe were brought, 
Nor of his numbers knew they aught. 
Nor what in time of truce he sought. 

Some said that there were thousands ten ; 
And others weened that it was nought 

But Leven Clans or Tynedale men. 
Who came to gather in black-mail : 
And Liddesdale, with small avail, 

Might drive them lightly back agen. 
So passed the anxious night away, 
And welcome was the peep of day. 



Cea,sed the high sound — the listening 

throng 
Applaud the Master of the Song; 
And marvel much, in helpless age. 
So hard should be his pilgrimage. 
Had he no friend — no daughter dear. 
His wandering toil to share and cheer? 
No son to be his father's stay, 
And guide him on the rugged way? 
' Ay, once he had — but he was dead ! " — 
Upon the harp he stooped his head, 
And busied himself the strings withal. 
To hide the tear that fain would fall. 
In solemn measure, soft and slow. 
Arose a father's notes of woe. 



Wcit 3Lau of tl)£ East ffliustrEl. 



C.\NTO FOURTH. 



SwKET Teviot ! on thy silver tide 

The glaring bale-fires blaze no more ; 
No longer steel-clad warriors ride 

Along thy wild and willowed sliore ; 
Where'er thou wind'st by dale or hill. 
All, all is peaceful, all is still. 

As if thy waves, since time was born, 
Since first they rolled upon the Tweed, 
Had only heard the shepherd's reed, 

Nor startled at the bugle-horn. 



Lhilike the tide of human time, 

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, 
Retains each grief, retains each crime. 

Its earliest course was doomed to know. 
And, darker as it downward bears, 
Is stained with past and present tears. 

Low as that tide has ebbed with me. 
It still reflects to memory's eye 
The hour my brave, my only boy 

Fell by the side of great Dundee. 
Why, when the volleying musket played 
Against the bloody Highland blade. 
Why was nc)t I beside him laid? — 
Enough — he died the death of fame ; 
Enough — he died with conquering Gramme. 



Now over Border dale and fell 

Full wide and far was terror spread ; 

For pathless marsh and mountain cell 
The peasant left his lowly shed. 

The frightened flocks and herds were pent 

Beneath the peel's rude battlement ; 

And maids and matrons dropped the tear. 

While ready warriors seized the spear. 

From Branksome's towers the watchman's 
eye 

Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy. 

Which, curling in the rising sun. 

Showed Southern ravage was begun. 



Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried : 
' Prepare ye all for blows and blood ! 
Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddel-side, 
Comes wading through the flood. 
Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock 
At his lone gate and prove the lock; 
It was but last Saint Barnabright 
They sieged him a whole summer night. 
But fled at morning ; well they knew. 
In vain he never twanged the yew. 
Right sharp has been the evening shower 
That drove him from his Liddel tower ; 
And, by my faith,' the gate-ward said, 
' I think 'twill prove a W^arden-Raid." 



While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman 
Entered the echoing barbican. 
He led a small and shaggy nag. 
That through a bog, from hag to hag. 
Could bound like any Billhope stag. 
It bore his wife and children twain; 
A half-clothed serf was all their train : 
His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-browed. 
Of silver brooch and bracelet proud. 
Laughed to her friends among the crowd. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MLNSTKEL. 



29 







'^1 











He was of stature passing tall. 
But sparely formed and lean withal : 
A battered morion on his brow ; 
A leathern jack, as fence enow, 
On his broad shoulders loosely hung: 
A Border axe behind was slung ; 

His spear, six Scottish ells in length. 
Seemed newly dyed with gore : 

His shafts and bow, of wondrous strength. 
His hardy partner bore. 

VI. 

Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn .show 

The tidings of the English foe : 

' Belted Will Howard Is marching here, 

And hot Lord Dacre, with many a spear, 

And all the German hackbut-men 

Who have long lain at Askerten. 

They crossed the Liddel at curfew hour, 

And burned my little lonely tower — 

The fiend receive their souls therefor ! 

It had not been burnt this year and more. 

Barnyard and dwelling, blazing bright. 

Served to guide me on my flight, 

But I was chased the livelong night. 

Black John of Akeshaw and Fergus Graeme 

Fast upon my traces came. 

Until I turned at Priesthaugb Scrogg, 

And shot their horses in the bog. 

Slew Fergus with my lance outright — 

I had him long at high despite ; 

He drove my cows last Pastern's night." 



Now weary scouts from Liddesdale, 
Fast hurrying in, confirmed the tale ; 
As far as they could judge by ken. 

Three hours would bring to Teviot's strand 
Three thousand armed Englishmen. 

Meanwhile, full many a warlike band, 
From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade, 
Came in, their chiefs defence to aid. 
There was saddling and mounting in haste, 

There was pricking o'er moor and lea; 
He that was last at the trysting-place 

Was but lightly held of his gay ladye. 



From fair Saint Mary's silver wave. 

From dreary Gamescleuch's dusky height. 
His ready lances Thirlestane brave 

Arrayed beneath a banner bright. 
The tressured fieur-de-luce he claims 
To wreathe his shield, since royal James, 
Encamped by Fala's mossy wave, 
The proud distinction grateful gave 

For faith mid feudal jars ; 
What time, save Thirlestane alone, 
Of Scotland's stubborn barons none 

Would march to southern wars ; 
And hence, in fair remembrance worn, 
Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne ; 
Hence his high motto shines revealed, 
' Readv. ave readv,' for the field. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL IVOIiKS. 



An aged knight, to danger steeled, 

With many a moss-trooper, came on ; 
And, azure in a golden field, 
The stars and crescent graced his shield, 

Without the bend of Murdieston. 
Wide lay his lands round Oakwood Tower, 
And wide round haunted Castle-Ower ; 
High over Borthwick's mountain flood 
His wood-embosomed mansion stood; 
In the dark glen, so deep below. 
The herds of plundered England low. 
His bold retainers' daily food, 
And bought with danger, blows, and blood. 
Marauding chief ! his sole delight 



The vassals were warlike and fierce and 

rude ; 
High of heart and haughty of word. 
Little they recked of a tame liege-lord. 
The earl into fair Eskdale came. 
Homage and seigniory to claim : 
Of Gilbert the Galliard a heriot he sought, 
Saying, ' Give thy best steed, as a vassal 

ought.' 
' Dear to me is my bonny white steed. 
Oft has he helped me at pinch of need; 
Lord and earl though thou be, I trow, 
I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou.' 
Word on word gave fuel to fire, 
Till so high blazed the Beattison's ire, 




The moonlight raid, tlie morning fight: 
Not even tlie Plower of Yarrow's charms 
In youth might tame his rage for arms ; 
And still in age he spurned at rest. 
And still his brows the helmet pressed. 
Albeit the blanched locks below 
Were white as fJinlay's spotless snow. 
Five stately warriors drew the sword 

Before their father's band : 
A braver knight than Harden's lord 

Ne'er belted on a brand. 



Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band. 

Came trooping down the Todshawhill 
By the sword they won their land. 

And by the sword they hold it still. 
Hearken, Ladye, to the tale 
How thy sires won fair Eskdale. 
Earl Morton was lord of that \alley fair, 
Tlie Beattisons were his vassals there. 
The earl was gentle and mild of mood, 



But that the earl the flight had ta'en. 

The vassals there their lord had slain. 

Sore he plied both whip and spur. 

As he urged his steed through Eskdale muir ; 

And it fell down a weary weight, 

Just on the threshold of Branksome gate. 



The earl was a wrathful man to see. 
Full fain avenged would he be. 
In haste to Branksome's lord he spoke, 
Saying, ' Take these traitors to thy yoke ; 
For a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold, 
All Eskdale I '11 sell thee, to have and hold : 
Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan 
If thou leavest on Eske a landed man ! 
But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone. 
For he lent me his horse to escape upon.' 
A glad man then was Branksome bold, 
Down he flung him the purse of gold ; 
To Eskdale soon he sj^urred amain. 
And with iiim five hundred riders has ta'en. 



THE LA Y OF THE LAST MENS TR EL. 



31 



He left his merrymen in the mist of the hill, 

And bade them hold them close and still ; 

And alone he wended to the plain, 

To meet with the Galliard and all his train. 

To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said : 

' Know thou me for thy liege-lord and head ; 

Deal not with me as with Morton tame, 

For Scotts play best at the roughest game. 

Give me in peace my heriot due, 

Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt rue. 

If my horn I three times wind, 

Eskdale shall lontj have the sound in mind.' 



Loudly the Beattison laughed in scorn ; 
' Little care we for thy winded horn. 
Ne'er shall it be the Gailiard's lot 
To yield his steed to a haughty Scott. 
Wend thou to Branksome back on foot. 
With rusty spur and miry boot.' 
He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse 
That the dun de'er started at far Craikcross ; 
He blew again so loud and clear. 
Through the gray mountain-mist there did 

lances appear ; • 

And the third blast rang with such a din 
That the echoes answered from Pentoun- 

Hnn, 
And all his riders came lightly in. 
Then had you seen a gallant shock, 
When saddles were emptied and lances 

broke ! 
For each scornful word the Galliard had said 
A Beattison on the field was laid. 
His own good sword the chieftain drew, 
And he bore the Galliard through and 

through ; 
Where the Beattisons' blood mixed with 

the rill, 
The Galliard 's Haugh men 

call it still. 
The Scotts have scattered 

the Beattison clan. 
In Eskdale they left but 

one landed man. 
The valley of Eske, from the 

mouth to the source. 
Was lost and won for that 

bonny white horse. 

XIII. 

Whitslade the Hawk, and 

Headshaw came, 
And warriors more than I 

may name ; 
From Yarrow-cleugh to 

Hindhaugh-swair, 
From Woodhouselie to 

Chester-glen, 



Trooped man and horse, and bow and spear; 

Their gathering word was Bellenden. 
And better hearts o'er Border sod 
To siege or rescue never rode. 
The Ladye marked the aids come in. 

And high her heart of pride arose ; 
She bade her youthful son attend. 
That he might know his father's friend, 

And learn to face his foes : 
' The boy is ripe to look on war ; 

I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff. 
And his true arrow struck afar 

The raven's nest upon the cliff; 
The red cross on a Southern breast 
Is broader than the raven's nest : 
Thou, Whitslade, shall teach him his 

weapon to wield. 
And o'er him hold his father's shield." 

XIV. 
Well may you think the wily page 
Cared not to face the Ladye sage. 
He counterfeited childish fear, 
And shrieked, and shed full many a tear. 
And moaned, and plained in manner wild. 

The attendants to the Ladye told. 
Some fairy, sure, had changed the child. 

That wont to be so free and bold. 
Then wrathful was the noble dame ; 
She blushed blood-red for very shame : 
' Hence ! ere the clan his faintness view ; 
Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch ! — 
Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his guide 
To Rangleburn's lonely side. — 
Sure, some fell fiend has cursed our line. 
That coward should e'er be son of mine ! ' 



A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had, 
To guide the counterfeited lad. 




32 



SCOTT'S POETICAL PVORKS 




Soon as the palfrey felt the weight 
Of that ill-omened elfish freight, 
He bolted, sprung, and reared amain. 
Nor heeded bit nor curb nor rein. 
It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil 
To drive him but a Scottish mile : 

But as a shallow brook they crossed, 
The elf, amid the running stream, 
His figure changed, like form in dream. 

And fied, and shouted, ' Lost ! lost ! lost ! ' 
Full fast the urchin ran and laughed, 
But faster still a cloth-yard shaft 
Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew. 
And pierced his shoulder through and 

through. 
Although the imp might not be slain, 
And though the wound soon healed again. 
Yet. as he ran, he yelled for pain ; 
And Watt of Tinlinn, much aghast. 
Rode back to Branksome fiery fast. 

XVI. 

Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood, 
That looks o'er Branksome's towers and 

wood : 
And martial murmurs from below 
Proclaimed the approaching Southern foe. 
Through the dark wood, in mingled tone, 
Were Border ])ipes and bugles blown ; 
.The coursers' neighing he could ken, 



A measured tread of marching men : 
While broke at times the solemn hum. 
The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum : 
And banners tall, of crimson sheen. 

Above the copse appear ; 
And, glistening through the hawthorns 
green. 

Shine helm and shield and spear. 



Light forayers first, to view the ground, 
Spurred their fleet coursers loosely round ; 
Behind, in close array, and fast. 

The Kendal archers, all in green. 
Obedient to the bugle blast, 

Advancing from the wood were seen. 
To back and guard the archer band, 
Lord Dacre's billmen were at hand : 
A hardy race, on Irthing bred, 
With kirtles white and crosses red. 
Arrayed beneath the banner tall 
That streamed o'er Acre's conquered wall : 
And minstrels, as they marched in order. 
Played, ' Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on 
the Border." 



Behind the English bill and bow 
The mercenaries, firm and slow. 
Moved on to fiirht in dark arrav, 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



By Conrad led of Wolfenstein, 

Who brought the band from distant Rhine, 

And sold their blood for foreign pay. 
The camp their home, their law the sword, 
They knew no country, owned no lord : 
They were not armed like England's sons. 
But bore the levin-darting guns : 
Buff coats, all frounced and broidered o'er, 
And morsing-horns and scarfs they wore: 
Each better knee was bared, to aid 
The warriors in the escalade: 
All as they marched, in rugged 

tongue 
Songs of Teutonic feuds they 

sung. 

XIX. I 

But louder still the clamor grew. 

And louder still the minstrels 
blew. 

When, from beneath the green- | 

wood tree. 

Rode forth Lord Howard's chi^•- , 

airy ; 

His men-at-arms, with glaive 
and spear, 

Brought up the battle's glitter- 
ing rear. 

There many a youthful knight, 
full keen 

To gain his spurs, in arms was 
seen, 

With favor in his crest or glove, 

Memorial of his ladye-love. 

So rode they forth in fair array, 

Till full their lengthened lines 
display ; 

Then called a halt, and made a stand. 

And cried, ' Saint George for merry Eng- 
land ! ' 

XX. 

Now every English eye intent 
On Branksome's armed towers was bent ; 
So near they were that they might know 
The straining harsh of each cross-bow: 
On battlement and bartizan 
Gleamed axe and spear and partisan : 
Falcon and culver on each tower 
Stood prompt their deadly hail to shower ; 
And flashing armor frequent broke 
From eddying whirls of sable smoke. 
Where upon tower and turret head 
The seething pitch and molten lead 
Reeked like a witch's caldron red. 
While yet they gaze, the bridges fall, 
The wicket opes, and from the wall 
Rides forth the hoary seneschal. 

XXI. 

Armed he rode, all save the head. 

His white beard o'er his breastplate spread : 



Unbroke by age, erect his seat, 
He ruled his eager courser's gait, 
Forced him with chastened fire to prance, 
And, high curvetting, slow advance : 
In sign of truce, his better hand 
Displayed a peeled willow wand ; 
His squire, attending in the reai", 
Bore high a gauntlet on a spear. 
When they espied him riding out, 
Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout 



..JHIBWBI 





Sped to the front of their array. 

To hear what this old knight should say. 



' Ye English warden lords, of you 
Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch, 
Why, 'gainst the truce of Border tide. 
In hostile guise ye dare to ride. 
With Kendal bow and Gilsland brand. 
And all yon mercenary band. 
Upon the bounds of fair Scotland ? 
My Ladye reads you swith return ; 
And, if but one poor straw you burn. 
Or do our towers so much molest 
As scare one swallow from her nest, 
Saint Mary ! but we '11 light a brand 
Shall warm your hearths in Cumberland.' 

XXIII. 

A wrathful man was Dacre's lord. 
But calmer Howard took the word: 
' May't please thy dame. Sir Seneschal, 
To seek the castle's outward wall, 
Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show 
Both why we came and when we go." 



34 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The message sped, the noble dame 
To the wall's outward circle came : 
Each chief around leaned on his spear. 
To see the pursuivant appear. 
All in Lord Howard's livery dressed, 
The lion argent decked his breast ; 
He led a boy of blooming hue — 
O sight to meet a mother's view ! 
It was the heir of great Buccleuch. 
Obeisance meet the herald made. 
And thus his master's will he said : 

XXIV. 
' It irks, high dame, my noble lords, 
'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords ; 
But yet they may not tamely see. 
All through the Western Wardenry, 
Your law-contemning kinsmen ride, 
And burn and spoil the Border-side ; 
And ill beseems your rank and birth 
To make your towers a flemens-firth. 
We claim from thee William of Deloraine. 
That he may suffer march-treason pain. 
It was but last Saint Cuthbert's even 
He pricked to Stapleton on Leven, 
Harried the lands of Richard Musgrave, 
And slew his brother by dint of glaive. 
Then, since a lone and widowed dame 
These restless riders may not tame, 
Either receive within thy towers 
Two hundred of my master's powers. 



Or straight they sound their warrison, 
And storm and spoil thy garrison ; 
And this fair boy, to London led, 
Shall good King Edward's page be bred. 



He ceased — and loud the boy did cry. 
And stretched his little arms on high. 
Implored for aid each well-known face, 
And strove to seek the dame's embrace. 
A moment changed that Ladye's cheer. 
Gushed to her eye the unbidden tear; 
She gazed upon the leaders round, 
And dark and sad each warrior frowned ; 
Then deep within her sobbing breast 
She locked the struggling sigh to rest, 
L^naltered and collected stood. 
And thus replied in dauntless mood : 



' Say to your lords of high emprise 

Who war on women and on boys. 

That either William of Deloraine 

Will cleanse him by oath of march-treason 

stain. 
Or else he will the combat take 
'Gainst Musgrave for his honor's sake. 
No knight in Cumberland so good 
But William may count with him kin and 

blood. 
Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword, 










i.aiJfV^^'^i'^' 



%rt-"- 









THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



35 



\\'hen English blood swelled 

Ancram ford; 
And but Lord Dacre's steed 

was wight. 
And bare him ably in the flight, 
Himself had seen him dubbed 

a knight. 
For the young heir of Brank- 

some's line, 
God be his aid, and God be 

mine ! 
Through me no friend shall 

meet his doom ; 
Here, while I, live, no foe finds 

room. 
Then, if thy lords their purpose 

urge. 
Take our defiance loud and 

high ; 
Our slogan is their lyke-wake 

dirge, 
Our moat the grave where 

they shall lie.' 



XXVII. 

Proud she looked round, 
plause to claim 



ap- 



Then lightened Thirlestane's 
eye of flame ; 

His bugle Wat of Harden 
blew ; 
Pensils and pennons wide were flung, 
To heaven the Border slogan rung, 

' Saint Mary for the young Buccleuch ! ' 
The English war-cry answered wide, 

And forward bent each Southern spear ; 
Each Kendal archer made a stride, 

And drew the bowstring to his ear; 
Each minstrel's war-note loud was blown ; — 
But, ere a gray-goose shaft had flown, 

A horseman galloped from the rear. 

XXVIII. 

'Ah I noble lords ! ' he breathless said, 
' What treason has your march betrayed t 
What make you here from aid so far, 
Before you walls, around you war ? 
Your foemen triumph in the thought 
That in the toils the lion 's caught. 
Already on dark Ruberslaw 
The Douglas holds his weapon-schaw ; 
The lances, waving in his train. 
Clothe the dun heath like autumn grain; 
And on the Liddel's northern strand. 
To bar retreat to Cumberland, 
Lord Maxwell ranks his merrymen good 
Beneath the eagle and the rood; 
And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviotdale, 
Have to proud Angus come ; 







And all the Merse and Lauderdale 
Have risen with haughty Home. 

An exile from Northumberland, 
In Liddesdale I 've wandered long, 

But still my heart was with merry England, 
And cannot brook my country's wrong ; 

And hard I 've spurred all night, to show 

The mustering of the coming foe.' 

XXIX. 

'And let them come !' fierce Dacre cried ; 
' For soon yon crest, my father's pride. 
That swept the shores of Judah's sea. 
And waved in gales of Galilee, 
From Branksome's highest towers di.s- 

played. 
Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid ! — 
Level each harquebuss on row ; 
Draw, merry archers, draw the bow ; 
Up, billmen, to the walls, and cry, 
Dacre for England, win or die ! ' — 



' Yet hear," quoth Howard, 'calmly hear, 
Nor deem my words the words of fear: 
For who, in field or foray slack, 
Saw the Blanche Lion e'er fall back ? 
But thus to risk our Border flower 
In strife against a kingdom's power, 



36 



scorrs poetical works. 



Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousands three, 
Certes, were desperate policy- 
Nay, take the terms the Ladye made 
Ere conscious of the advancing aid : 
Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine 
In single fight, and if he gain, 
He gains for us ; but if he 's crossed. 
'T is but a single warrior lost : 
The rest, retreating as they came. 
Avoid defeat and death and shame." 



Ill could the haughty Dacre brook 
His brother warden's sage rebuke ; 
And yet his forward step he stayed, 
And slow and sullenly obeyed. 
But ne'er again the Border side 
Did these two lords in friendship ride ; 
And this slight discontent, men say, 
Cost blood upon another day. 



The pursuivant-at-arms again 

Before the castle took his stand ; 

His trumpet called with parleying strain 
The leaders of the Scottish band ; 

And he defied, in Musgrave's right. 

Stout Deloraine to single fight. 



A gauntlet at their feet he laid. 
And thus the terms of fight he said : 
' If in the lists good Musgrave's sword 

Vanquish the Knight of Deloraine, 
Your youthful chieftain, Branksome's lord, 

Shall hostage for his clan remain : 
If Deloraine toil good Musgrave, 
The boy his liberty shall have. 

Howe'er it falls, the English band, 
Unharming Scots, by Scots unharmed. 
In peaceful march, like men unarmed. 

Shall straight retreat to Cumberland.' 



Unconscious of the near relief. 

The proffer pleased each Scottish chief, 

Though much the Ladye sage gainsaid ; 
For though their hearts were brave and true. 
From Jedwood's recent sack they knew 

How tardy was the Regent's aid : 
And you may guess the noble dame 

Durst not the secret prescience own. 
Sprung from the art she might not name, 

By which the coming help was known. 
Closed was the compact, and agreed 
That lists should be enclosed with speed 

Beneath the castle on a lawn : 
Thev fixed the morrow for the strife. 




THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 




On foot, with Scottish axe and knife, 

At the fourth hour from peep of dawn 
When Deloraine, from sickness freed. 
Or else a champion in his stead, 
Should for himself and chieftain stand 
Against stout Mustrrave, hand to hand. 



I know right well that in their lav 
Full many minstrels sing and say 

Such combat should be made on horse 
On foaming steed, in fa\l career. 
With brand to aid, whenas the spear 

Should shiver in the course : 
I!ut he, the jovial harper, taught 
.Me, yet a youth, how it was fought, 

In guise which now I say ; 
He knew each ordinance and clause 
Of Black Lord Archibald's battle-laws. 

In the old Douglas' day. 
He brooked not, he, that scoffing tongue 
Should tax his minstrelsy with wrong. 

Or call his sons untrue : 



For this, when they the goblet plied. 
And such rude taunt had chafed his pride, 

The Bard of Reull he slew. 
On Teviot's side in fight they stood, 
And tuneful hands were stained with blood, 
Where still the thorn's white branches wave. 
Memorial o'er his rival's grave. 



Why should I tell the rigid doom 
That dragged my master to his tomb ; 

How Ousenam's maidens tore their hair, 
Wept till their eyes were dead and dim. 
And wrung their hands for love of him 

Who died at Jedwood Air ? 
He died ! — his scholars, one by one. 
To the cold silent grave are gone ; 
And I, alas ! surviv^e alone. 
To muse o'er rivalries of yore. 
And grieve that I shall hear no more 
The strains, with envy heard before ; 
For, with my minstrel brethren fled. 
My jealousy of song is dead. 



38 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He paused : the listening dames again 
Applaud the hoary Minstrel's strain. 
With many a word of kindly cheer, — 
In pity half, and half sincere, — 
Marvelled the Duchess how so well 
His legendary song could tell 
Of ancient deeds, so long forgot ; 
Of feuds, whose memory was not ; 
Of forests, now laid waste and bare ; 
Of towers, which harbor now the hare ; 
Of manners, long since changed and gone ; 
Of chiefs, who under their gray stone 
So long had slept that fickle Fame 
Had blotted from her rolls their name, 
And twined round some new minion's head 
The fading wreath for which they bled : 
In sooth, 't was strange this old man's verse 
Could call them from their marble hearse. 

The harper smiled, well pleased ; for ne'er 
Was flattery lost on poet's ear. 
A simple race ! they waste their toil 
For the vain tribute of a smile ; 
E'en when in age their flame expires, 
Her dulcet breath can fan its fires : 
Their drooping" fancy wakes at praise. 
And strives to trim the short-lived blaze. 

Smiled then, well pleased, the aged man, 
And thus his tale continued ran. 



W(it 3LaD of tljc ILast JJlinstrd. 



C.\XTO FIFTH. 



Call it not vain : — they do not err, 

Who say that when the poet dies 
Mute Nature mourns her worshipper 

And celebrates his obsequies ; 
Who say tall cliff and cavern lone 
For the departed bard make moan: 
That mountains weep in crystal rill : 
That flowers in tears of balm distil ; 
Th\-ough his loved groves that breezes sigh. 
And oaks in deeper groan reply. 
And rivers teach their rushing wave 
To murmur dirges round his grave. 



Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn 
Those things inanimate can mourn, 
liut that the stream, the wood, the gale, 
Is vocal with the plaintive wail 



Of those who, else forgotten long, 

Lived in the poet's faithful song. 

And, with the poet's parting breath. 

Whose memory feels a second death. 

The maid's pale shade, who wails her lot. 

That love, true love,- should be forgot, 

From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear 

Upon the gentle minstrel's bier : 

The phantom knight, his glory fled, 

Mourns o'er the field he heaped with dead. 

Mounts the wild blast that sweeps amain 

And shrieks along the battle-plain ; 

The chief, whose antique crownlet long 

Still sparkled in the feudal song. 

Now, from the mountain's misty throne. 

Sees, in the thanedom once his own. 

His ashes undistinguished lie. 

His place, his power, his memory die ; 

His groans the lonely caverns fill. 

His tears of rage impel the rill ; 

All mourn the minstrel's harp unstrung. 

Their name unknown, their praise unsung. 



Scarcely the hot assault was stayed. 
The terms of truce were scarcely made. 
When they could spy, from Branksome's 

towers. 
The advancing march of martial powers. 
Thick clouds of dust afar appeared. 
And trampling steeds were faintly heard ; 
Bright spears above the columns dun 
Glanced momentary to the sun : 
And feudal banners fair displayed 
The bands that moved to Branksome's aid. 



Vails not to tell each hardy clan. 

From the fair Middle Marches came 
The Bloody Heart blazed in the van, 

Announcing Douglas, dreaded name ! 
Vails not to tell what steeds did spurn. 
Where the Seven Spears of Wedderburne 

Their men in battle-order set. 
And Swinton laid the lance in rest 
That tamed of yore the sparkling crest 

Of Clarence's Plantagenet. 
Nor list I say what hundreds more. 
From the rich Merse and Lammermore, 
And Tweed's fair borders, to tlie war. 
Beneath the crest of Old Dunbar 

And Hepburn's mingled banners, come 
Down the steep mountain glittering far. 

And shouting still. 'A Home! a Home! 



Now squire and knight, from Branksome 

sent. 
On many a coui"teous message went : 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



39 




To every chief and lord they paid 
Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid, 
And told them how a truce was made, 
And how a day of fight was ta'en 
'Twixt Musgrave and stout Deloraine ; 

And how the Ladye prayed them dear 
That all would stay the fight to see, 
And deign, in love and courtesv, 

To taste of Branksome cheer. 
Nor, while they bade to feast each Scot. 
Were England's noble lords forgot. 
Himself, the hoary seneschal, 
Rode forth, in seemly terms to call 
Those gallant foes to Branksome Hall. 
Accepted Howard, than whom knight 
Was never dubbed, more bold in fight, 
Nor, when from war and armor free. 
More famed for stately courtesy ; 
But angry Dacre rather chose 
In his pavilion to repose. 



Now, noble dame, perchance you ask 
How these two hostile armies met, 

Deeming it were no easy task 

To keep the truce which here was set 

Where martial spirits, all on fire, 

Breathed only blood and mortal ire. 

By mutual inroads, mutual blows, 

By habit, and by nation, foes, 
They met on Teviot's strand ; 



They met and sate them mingled down, 
Without a threat, without a frown, 

As brothers meet in foreign land : 
The hands, the spear that lately grasped, 
Still in the mailed gauntlet clasped. 

Were interchanged in greeting dear; 
Visors were raised and faces shown, 
And many a friend, to friend made known. 

Partook of social cheer. 
Some drove the jolly bowl about ; 

With dice and draughts some chased the 
day ; 
And some, with many a merry shout, 
In riot, revelry, and rout. 

Pursued the football play. , 



Yet, be it known, had bugles blown 

Or sign of war been seen, 
Those bands, so fair together ranged. 
Those hands, so frankly interchanged, 

Had dyed with gore the green : 
The merry shout by Teviot-side 
Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide, 

And in the groan of death ; 
And whingers, now in friendship bare, 
The social meal to part and share. 

Had found a bloody sheath. 
'Twixt truce and war, such sudden change 
Was not infrequent, nor held strange. 

In the old Border-day : 



40 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



But yet on Branksome's towers and town, 
In peaceful merriment, sunk down 
The sun's decliningf rav. 



The blithesome signs of wassail gay 
Decayed not with tlie dying day ; 
Soon through the latticed windows tall 
Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall, 
Divided square by shafts of stone. 
Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone : 



Margaret from liall did soon retreat. 
Despite the dame's reproving eye : 
Nor marked she, as she left her seat. 

Full many a stifled sigh : 
For many a nol)le warrior strove 
To win the Flower of Teviot's love, 

And many a bold ally. 
With throbbing head and anxious lieart. 
All in her lonely bower ajjart. 
In broken sleep she lay. 

By times, from silken couch she rose : 
While yet the bannered hosts repose. 

She viewed the dawning day : 
Of all the hundreds sunk to rest, 
First woke the loveliest and the best. 






^^^ 









Nor less the gilded rafters rang 
With merry harp and beakers' clang ; 
And frequent, on the darkening plain, 

Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran. 
As bands, their stragglers to regain, 

Give the shrill watchword of their clan 
And revellers, o'er their bowls, proclaim 
Douglas' or iDacre's conquering name. 



Less frequent heard, and fainter still. 

At length the various clamors died. 
And you might hear from Branksome hill 

No sound but Teviot's rushing tide ; 
Save when the changing sentinel 
The challenge of his watch could tell ; 
And save where, through the dark profound, 
The clanging axe and hammer's sound 

Rung from the nether lawn; 
For many a busy hand toiled there, 
.Strong pales to shape and beams to square, 
The lists' dread barriers to prepare 

Against the morrow's dawn. 



-She gazed upon the inner court. 

Which in the tower's tall shadow 
_\ lay. 

Where coursers' clang and stamp and 
snort 
Had rung the livelong yesterday : 
Now still as death ; till stalking slow, — 
The jingling spurs announced his 
tread, — 
A stately warrior passed below : 

But when he raised his plumed 
head — 
Blessed Mary ! can it be .-^ — 
Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers, 
He walks through Branksome's hostile 
towers, 
With fearless step and free. 
She dared not sign, she dared not speak — 
O, if one page's slumbers break. 
His blood the price must pay ! 
Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears, 
Not Margaret's yet more precious tears. 
Shall buy his life a day. 



Yet was his hazard small: for well 
You may bethink you of the spell 

Of that sly urchin page : 
This to his lord he did impart. 
And made him seem, by glamour art. 

A knight from Hermitage. 
Unchallenged, thus, the warder's post. 
The court, unchallenged, thus he crossed 

For all the vassalage ; 
But O, what magic's quaint disguise 
Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes ! 

She started from her seat : 
While with sur])rise and fear she strove, 
And both could scarcely master love — 

Lord Henry 's at her feet. 



THE LAY QF THE LAST MLYSTREL. 



41 




XIII. 

Oft have I mused what purpose bad 
That foul malicious urchin had 
To bring this meeting round, 
For happy love 's a heavenly sight. 
And by a vile malignant sprite 



In such no joy is found ; 
And oft I 've deemed, perchance he thought 
Their erring passion might have wrought 

Sorrow and sin and shame, 
And death to Cranstoun's gallant Knight, 
And to the gentle Ladye bright 



42 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Disgrace and loss of fame. 
But earthly spirit could not tell 
The heart of them that loved so well. 
True love 's the gift which God has given 
To man alone beneath the heaven : 
It is not fantasy's hot fire, 

Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly 
it livetli not in fierce desire, 

With dead desire it doth not die ; 
It is the secret sympathy. 
The silver link, the silken tie, 
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind. 
In body and in soul can bind. — 
Now leave we Margaret and her knight. 
To tell you of the approaching fight. 



Their warning blasts the bugles blew, 

The pipe's shrill port aroused each clan ; 
In haste the deadly strife to view, 

The trooping warriors eager ran : 
Thick round the lists their lances stood, 
Like blasted pines in Ettrick wood ; 
To Branksome many a look they threw. 
The combatants' approach to view, 
And bandied many a word of boast 
About the kniirht each favored most. 



'Twixt Harden and 'twixt Thirlestane. 
They gan to reckon kin and rent, 
And frowning brow on brow was bent ; 

But yet not long the strife — for, lo ! 
Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, 
Strong, as it seemed, and free from pain, 

In armor sheathed from top to toe. 
Appeared and craved the combat due. 
The dame her charm successful knew, 
And the fierce chiefs their claims withdrew. 

XVI. 

When for the lists they sought the plain, 
The stately Ladye's silken rein 

Did noble Howard hold; 
Unarmed by her side he walked. 
And much in courteous phrase they talked 

Of feats of arms of old. 
Costly his garb — his Flemish ruff 
Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff. 

With satin slashed and lined ; 
Tawny his boot, and gold his spur. 
His cloak was all of Poland fur. 

His hose with silver twined ; 
His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt. 
Hung in a bi'oad and studded belt; 
Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still 
Called noble Howard Belted Will. 



Meantime full anxious was the dame; 

For now arose disputed claim 

Of who should fight for Deloraine, 



XVII. 

Behind Lord Howard and the dame 
Fair Margaret on her palfrey came. 




THE LA Y OF THE LAST MLNSTREL. 



43 




Whose footcloth swept the ground ; 
White was her wimple and her veil, 
And her loose locks a chaplet pale 

Of whitest roses bound ; 
The lordly Angus, by her side, 
In courtesy to cheer her tried ; 
Without his aid, her hand in vain 
Had strove to guide her broidered rein. 
He deemed she shuddered at the sight 
Of warriors met for mortal fight ; 
But cause of terror, all unguessed. 
Was fluttering in her gentle breast, 
When, in their chairs of crimson placed, 
The dame and she the barriers graced. 

XVIII. 

Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch 
An English knight led forth to view ; 
Scarce rued the boy his present plight, 
So much he longed to see the fight. 
Within the lists in knightly pride 
High Home and haughty Dacre ride ; 
Their leading staffs of steel they wield, 
As marshals of the mortal field. 
While to each knight their care assigned 
Like vantage of the sun and wind. 
Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim. 
In King and Queen and Warden's name. 



That none, while lasts the strife. 
Should dare, by look or sign or word, 
Aid to a champion to afford. 

On peril of his life ; 
And not a breath the silence broke 
Till thus the alternate heralds spoke : 



ENGLISH HERALD. 

' Here standeth Richard of Musgrave, 

Good knight and true, and freely born, 
Amends from Deloraine to crave, 

For foul despiteous scathe and scorn. 
He sayeth that William of Deloraine 

Is traitor false by Border laws : 
This with his sword he will maintain. 

So help him God and his good cause ! ' 

XX. 

SCOTTISH HERALD. 

' Here standeth William of Deloraine, 
Good knight and true, of noble strain, 
Who sayeth that foul treason's stain. 
Since he bore arms, ne'er soiled his coat 

And that, so help him God above ! 

He will on Musgrave's body prove 
He lies most foully in his throat.' 



44 



SCOTT S POETICAL WORKS. 



LORD DACRE. 



' Forward, brave champions, to the fight ! 
Sound trumpets ! ' 



LORD HOME. 

' God defend the right ! 



Then, Teviot, how thine echoes rang, 
When bugle-sound and trumpet-clang 
Let loose the martial foes. 



XXIII. 

In haste the holy friar sped ; — 
His naked foot was dyed with red, 

As through the lists he ran ; 
Unmindful of the shouts on high 
That hailed the conqueror's victory. 

He raised the dying man ; 
Loose waved his silver beard and hair, 
As o'er him he kneeled down in prayer; 




And in mid-list, with shield poised high, 
And measured step and wary eye. 
The combatants did close ! 



Ill would it suit your gentle ear. 

Ye lovely listeners, to hear 

How to the axe the helms did sound, 

And blood poured down from many a 

wound : 
For desperate was the strife and long, 
And either warrior fierce and strong. 
But, were each dame a listening knight, 
I well could tell how warriors fight ; 
For I have seen war's lightningflashing, 
Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing, 
Seen through red blood the war-horse 

dashing. 
And scorned, amid the reeling strife, 
To yield a step for death or iTfe. 



"T is done, 't is done ! that fatal blow 

Has stretched him on the bloody plain; 
He strives to rise — brave Musgrave, no! 

Thence never shalt thou rise again ! 
He chokes in blood — some friendly hand 
Undo the visor's barred band. 
Unfix the gorget's iron clasp, 
And give him room for life to gasp ! — 
O, bootless aid ! — haste, holy friar, 
Haste, ere the sinner shall expire ! 
Of all liis guilt let him be shriven, 
And smooth his path from earth to heaven 



And still the crucifix on high 
He holds before his darkening eye; 
And still he bends an anxious ear, 
His faltering penitence to hear; 

Still props him from the bloody sod. 
Still, even when soul and body part. 
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart. 

And bids him trust in God ! • 
Unheard he prays ; — the death-pang 's o'er ! 
Richard of Musjjrave breathes no more. 



As if exhausted in the fight. 

Or musing o'er the piteous sight, 

The silent victor stands ; 
His beaver did he not unclasp. 
Marked not the shouts, felt not the grasp 

Of gratulating hands. 
When lo ! strange cries of wild surprise, 
Mingled with seeming terror, rise 

Among the Scottish bands ; 
And all, amid the thronged array, 
In panic haste gave open way 
To a half-naked ghastly man, 
Who downward from the castle ran : 
He crossed the barriers at a bound, 
And wild and haggard looked around. 

As dizzy and in pain ; 
And all upon the armed ground 

Knew William of Deloraine ! 
Each ladye sprung from seat with speed : 
Vaulted each marshal from his steed ; 

' And who art thou,' they cried, 
■ W'ho hast this battle fought and won ? ' 



THE LA V OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



45. 



His plumed helm was soon undone — 

' Cranstoun of Teviot-side ! 
For this fair prize I Ve fought and won, 
And to the Ladye led her son. 



Full oft the rescued boy she kissed, 
And often pressed him to her breast, 



Their influence kindly stars may shower 
On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower, 

For pride is quelled and love is free.' 
She took fair Margaret by the hand. 
Who, breathless, trembling, scarce might 
stand ; 

That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she : 
' As I am true to thee and thine. 
Do thou be true to me and mine ! 




For, under all her dauntless show, 

Her heart had throbbed at every blow; 

Yet not Lord Cranstoun deigned she greet, 

Though low he kneeled at her feet. 

Me lists not tell what words were made. 

What Douglas, Home, and Howard said — 

For Howard was a generous foe — 
And how the clan united prayed 

The Ladye would the feud forego. 
And deign to bless the nuptial hour 
Of Cranstoun's lord and Teviot's Flower. 

XXVI. 

.She looked to river, looked to hill, 
Thought on the Spirit's prophecy. 

Then broke her silence stern and still : 
' Not you, but Fate, has vanquished me ; 



This clasp of love our bond shall be. 
For this is your betrothing day. 
And all these noble lords shall stay, 

To grace it with their company.' 



All as they left the listed plain. 

Much of the story she did gain : 

How Cranstoun fought with Deloraine, 

And of his page, and of the book 

Which from the wounded knight he took ; 

And how he sought her castle high. 

That morn, by help of gramarye ; 

How, in Sir William's armor dight, 

Stolen by his page, while slept the knight. 

He took on him the single fight. 

But half his tale he left unsaid, 



46 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




And lingered till he joined the maid. — 
Cared not the Ladye to betray 
Her mystic arts in view of day; 
But well she thought, ere midnight came, 
Of that strange page the pride to tame. 
From his foul hands the book to save, 
And send it back to Michael's grave. — 
Needs not to tell each tender word 
'Twixt Margaret and 'twixt Cranstoun's 

lord ; 
Nor how she told of former woes, 
And how her bosom fell and rose 
While he and Musgrave bandied blows. — 
Needs not these lovers' joys to tell ; 
One day, fair maids, you 11 know them well. 



William of Deloraine some chance 
Had wakened from his deathlike trance. 

And taught that in the listed plain 
Another, in his arms and shield. 
Against fierce Musgrave axe did wield, 

Under the name of Deloraine. 
Hence, to the field unarmed he ran, 
And hence his presence scared the clan, 
Who held him for some fleeting wraith. 
And not a man of blood and breath. 
Not much this new ally he loved. 
Yet, when he saw what hap had proved. 

He greeted him right'heartilie : 
He would not waken old debate. 



For he was void of rancorous hate. 

Though rude and scant of courtesy ; 
In raids he spilt but seldom blood, 
Unless when men-at-arms withstood. 
Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. 
He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow, 
Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe. 
And so 't was seen of him e'en now, 

When on dead Musgrave he looked down : 
Grief darkened on his rugged brow, 

Though half disguised with a frown : 
And thus, while sorrow bent his head, 
His foeman's epitaph he made : 



' Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here, 

I ween, my deadly enemy : 
For, if I slew thy brother dear, 

Thou slew'st a sister's son to me ; 
And when I lay in dungeon dark 

Of Naworth Castle long months three, 
Till ransomed for a thousand mark, 

Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. 
And, Musgrave, could our light be tried. 

And thou wert now alive, as I, 
No mortal man should us divide, 

Till one, or both of us, did die ; 
Yet rest thee God ! for well I know 
I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. 
In all the northern counties here, 
Whose word is Snalfle, spur, and spear. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



47 



Thou wert the best to follow gear. 
"T was pleasure, as we looked behind, 
To see how thou the chase couldst wind. 
Cheer the dark bloodhound on his way. 
And with the bugle rouse the fray ! 
I 'd give the lands of Deloraine, 
Dark Mussrave were alive again.' 



So mourned he till Lord Dacre's band 
Were bowning back to Cumberland. 
They raised brave Musgrave from the field 
And laid him on his bloody shield ; 



The harp's wild notes, though hushed the 

song, 
The mimic march of death prolong ; 
Now seems it far, and now a-near, 
Now meets, and now eludes the ear. 
Now seems some mountain side to sweep, 
Now faintly dies in valley deep. 
Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail, 
Now the sad requiem, loads the gale ; 
Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave, 
Rung the full choir in choral stave. 

After due pause, they bade him tell 
Why he, who touched the harp so well. 




On levelled lances, four and four, 

By turns, the noble burden bore. 

Before, at times, upon the gale 

Was heard the Minstrel's plaintive 

wail ; 
Behind, four priests in sable stole 
Sung requiem for the warrior's soul ; 
Around, the horsemen slowly rode ; 
With trailing pikes the spearmen trode ; 
And thus the gallant knight they bore 
Through Liddesdale to Leven's shore. 
Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave. 
And laid him in liis father's gfrave. 



Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil, 
Wander a poor and thankless soil, 
When the more generous .Southern Land 
Would well requite his skilful hand. 

The aged harper, howsoe'er 

His only friend, his harp, was dear. 

Liked not to hear it ranked so high 

Above his flowing poesy : 

Less liked he still that scornful jeer 

Misprized the land he loved so dear ; 

High was the sound as thus again 

The bard resumed his minstrel strain. 



48 



scorrs poetical works. 




STfte iLag of \\z ILast JHinsttfl. 

CANTO SIXTH. 



Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 

This is my own, my native land ? 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned. 
As home his footsteps he hath turned 

From wandering on a foreign strand ? 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well ; 
For him no minstrel raptures swell ; 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, — 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf. 
The wretch, concentred all in self. 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust from whence he sprung. 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 



O Caledonia, stern and wild. 

Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, 

Land of the mountain and the flood. 



Land of my sires ! what mortal hand 

Can e'er untie the filial band 

That knits me to thy rugged strand ! 

Still, as I view each well-known scene, 

Think what is now and what hath been, 

Seems as to me, of all bereft. 

Sole friends thy woods and streams were 

left; 
And thus I love them better still, 
Even in extremity of ill. 
By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, 
Though none should guide my feeble way ; 
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, 
Although it chill my withered cheek; 
Still lay my head by Teviot-stone, 
Though there, forgotten and alone. 
The bard may draw his parting groan. 



Not scorned like me, to Branksome Hall 
The minstrels came at festive call ; 
Trooping they came from near and far. 
The jovial priests of mirth and war; 
Alike for feast and fight prepared. 
Battle and banquet both they shared. 
Of late, before each martial clan 
They blew their death-note in the van. 
But now for every merr)- mate 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



49 




Rose the portcullis' iron grate ; 
They sound the pipe, they strike the string, 
They dance, they revel, and they sing, 
Till the rude turrets shake and ring. 



Me lists not at this tide declare 

The splendor of the spousal rite, 
How mustered in the chapel fair 

Both maid and matron, squire and knight : 
Me lists not tell of ovvches rare. 
Of mantles green, and braided hair, 
And kirtles furred with miniver ; 
What plumage waved the altar round, 
How spurs and ringing chainlets sound : 
And hard it were for bard to speak 
The changeful hue of Margaret's cheek, 
That lovely hue which comes and flies. 
As awe and shame alternate rise ! 



Some bards have sung, the Ladye high 
Chapel or altar came not nigh. 
Nor durst the rites of spousal grace. 
So much she feared each holy place. 
False slanders these : — I trust right well. 
She wrought not by forbidden spell, 
For mighty words and signs have power 
O'er sprites in planetary hour ; 



Yet scarce I praise their venturous part 
Who tamper with such dangerous art. 
But this for faithful truth I say, — 

The Ladye by the altar stood. 
Of sable velvet her array, 

And on her head a crimson hood, 
With pearls embroidered and entwined, 
Guarded with gold, with ermine lined ; 
A merlin sat upon her wrist. 
Held by a leash of silken twist. 



The spousal rites were ended soon : 
'T was now the merry hour of noon. 
And in the lofty arched hall 
Was spread the gorgeous festival. 
Steward and scjuire, with heedful haste. 
Marshalled the rank of every guest : 
Pages, with ready blade, were there. 
The mighty meal to carve and share : 
O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane. 
And princely peacock's gilded train. 
And o'er the boar-head, garnished brave. 
And cygnet from Saint Mary's wave. 
O'er ptarmigan and venison. 
The priest had spoke his benison. 
Then rose the riot and the din. 
Above, beneath, without, within ! 
For, from the lofty balcony, 



50 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery : 
Their clanging bowls old warriors quaffed, 
Loudly they sj^oke and loudly laughed; 
Whispered young knights, in tone more mild, 
To ladies fair, and ladies smiled. 
The hooded hawks, high perched on beam, 
The clamor joined with whistling scream. 
And flapped their wings and shook their 

bells. 
In concert with the stag-hounds' yells. 



By nature fierce, and warm with wine. 
And now in humor highly crossed 
About some steeds his band had lost, 
High words to words succeeding still, 
Smote with his gauntlet stout Hunthill, 
A hot and hardy Rutherford, 
Whom men called Dickon Uraw-the-Sword. 
He took it on the page's saye, 
Hunthill had driven these steeds away. 
Then Howard, Home, and Douglas rose. 




Round go the flasks of ruddy wine. 
From Bordeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine ; 
Their tasks the busy sewers ply, 
And all is mirth and revelry. 

VII. 

The Goblin Page, omitting still 

No opportunity of ill. 

Strove now, while blood ran hot and liigh, 

To rouse debate and jealousy; 

Till Conrad, Lord of Wolfenstein, 



The kindling discord to compose; 

Stern Rutherford right little said, 

But bit his glove and shook his head. 

A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, 

Stout Conrad, cold, and drenched in blood, 

His bosom gored with many a wound, 

Was by a woodman's lyme-dog found : 

Unknown the manner of his death. 

Gone was his brand, both sword and sheath ; 

But ever from that time, 't was said. 

That Dickon wore a Cologne blade. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



51 



The dwarf, who feared his master's eye 
Might his foul treachery espie, 
Now sought the castle buttery, 
Where many a yeoman, bold and free, 
Revelled as merrily and well 
As those that sat in lordly selle. 
Watt Tinlinn there did frankly raise 
The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-Braes ; 
And he, as by his breeding bound, 
To Howard's merrymen sent it round. 
To cjuit them, on the English side. 
Red Roland Forster loudly cried, 
' A deep carouse to yon 

fair bride ! ' 
At every pledge, from vat 

and pail. 
Foamed forth in floods the 

nut-brown ale. 
While shout the riders 

every one : 
Such day of mirth ne'er 

cheered their clan, 
Since old Buccleuch the 

name did gain. 
When in the clench the 

buck was ta'en. 



Had bid the minstrels tune their lay. 
And first stepped forth old Albert Graeme, 
The minstrel of that ancient name : 
Was none who struck the harp so 

well 
Within the Land Debatable ; 
Well friended too, his hardy kin. 
Whoever lost, were sure to win ; 
They sought the beeves that made their 

broth 
In Scotland and in England both. 
In homely guise, as nature bade, 
His simple song the Borderer said. 



The wily page, with venge- 
ful thought. 
Remembered him of 
Tinlinn's yew, 
And swore it should be 
dedrly bought 
That ever he the arrow 
drew. 
First, he the yeoman did 

molest 

With bitter gibe and taunting jest ; 
Told how he fled at Solway strife. 
And how Hob Armstrong cheered his wife ; 
Then, shunning still his powerful arm, 
At unawares he wrought him harm ; 
From trencher stole his choicest cheer, 
Dashed from his lips his can of beer ; 
Then, to his knee sly creeping on. 
With bodkin pierced him to the bone : 
The venomed wound and festering joint 
Long after rued that bodkin's point. 
The startled yeoman swore and spurned. 
And board and flagons overturned. 
Riot and clamor wild began; 
Back to the hall the urchin ran, 
Took in a darkling nook his post, 
And grinned, and muttered, ' Lost ! lost ! 
lost ! ' 

X. 

By this, the dame, lest farther fray 
.Should mar the concord of the day. 




XI. 

.ALBERT GR.EME. 

It was an English ladye bright, 
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall) 

And she would marry a Scottish knight, 
For Love will still be lord of all. 

Blithely they saw the rising sun. 

When he shone fair on Carlisle wall : 

But they were sad ere day was done. 
Though Love was still the lord of all. 

Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine, 

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall ; 

Her brother gave but a flask of wine. 
For ire that Love was lord of all. 

For she had lands both meadow and lea. 
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle 
wall ; 



52 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORK'S. 



And he swore her death, ere he would see 
A Scottish knight the lord of all ! 



That wine she had not tasted well, 
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall) 

When dead, in her true love's arms, she fell, 
For Love was still the lord of all. 

He pierced her brother to the heart. 

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle 
wall ; — 

So perish all would true love part, 
That Love may still be lord of all ! 

And then he took the cross divine. 

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle 
wall, 

And died for her sake in Palestine, 
So Love was still the lord of all. 

Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, 
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall) 

Pray for their souls who died for love, 
For Love shall still be lord of all ! 



As ended Albert's simple lay. 

Arose a bard of loftier port. 
For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay 

Renowned in haughty Henry's court: 
There rung thy harp, unrivalled long, 
Fitztraver of the silver song ! 
The gentle Surrey loved his lyre — 

Who has not heard of Surrey's fame .'' 
His was the hero's soul of fire, 

And his the bard's immortal name. 



And his was love, exalted high 
By all the glow of chivalry. 



Tliey sought together climes afar. 

And oft, within some olive gro\'e, 
When even came with twinkling star. 

They sung of Surrey's absent love. 
His step the Italian peasant stayed. 

And deemed that spirits from on high. 
Round where some hermit saint was laid, 

Were breathing heavenly melody; 
So sweet did harp and voice combine 
To praise the name of Geraldine. 



Fitztraver, O, what tongue may say 

The pangs thy faithful bosom knew. 
When Surrey of the deathless lay 

Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew ? 
Regardless of the tyrant's frown. 
His harp called wrath and vengeance down. 
He left, for Naworth's iron towers, 
Windsor's green glades and courtly bowers, 
And, faithful to his patron's name. 
With Howard still Fitztraver came ; 
Lord William's foremost favorite he, 
And chief of all his minstrelsy. 

XVI. 

FITZTRAVER. 

'T was All-souls' eve, and Surrey's heart 
beat high ; 
He heard the midnight bell with anx- 
ious start, 




THE LAV OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



53 




Which told the mystic hour, approaching 
nigh, 
When wise Cornelius promised by his 

art 
To show to him the ladye of his heart, 
Albeit betwixt them roared the ocean 
grim ; 
Yet so the sage had hight to play his 
part, 
That he should see her form in life and 
limb. 
And mark if still she loved and still she 
thought of him. 

XVII. 

Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye, 

To which the wizard led the gallant 

knight. 

Save that before a mirror, huge and high. 

A hallowed taper shed a glimmering 

light 
On mystic implements of magic might, 
On cross, and character, and talisman. 

And almagest, and altar, nothing bright ; 
For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan. 
As watch-light by the bed of some departing 
man. 

XVIII. 

But soon, within that mirror huge and 
high. 
Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam : 
And forms upon its breast the earl gan 

spy, 



Cloudy and indistinct as feverish dream ; 
Till, slow arranging and defined, they 
seem 
To form a lordly and a lofty room. 

Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam. 
Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom. 
And part by moonshine pale, and part was 
hid in gloom. 

XIX. 

Fair all the pageant — but how passing 
fair 
The slender form which lay on couch 
of Ind! 
O'er her white bosom strayed her hazel 
hair. 
Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she 

pined ; 
All in her night-robe loose she lay 
reclined. 
And pensive read from tablet eburnine 
Some strain that seemed her inmost 
soul to find : 
That favored strain was Surrey's raptured 
line. 
That fair and lovelvform the Ladv Geraldine. 



Slow rolled the clouds upon the lovely 
form, 

And swept the goodly vision all away — 
So royal env)- rolled the murky storm 

O'er mv beloved Master's glorious day. 



54 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant ! Heaven 

repay 

On thee, and on thy children's latest line. 

The wild caprice of thy despotic sway, 

The gory bridal bed, the plundered shrine. 

The murdered Surrey's blood, the tears of 

Geraldine ! 



Both Scots and Southern chiefs prolong 
Applauses of Fitztraver's song; 
These hated Henry's name as death, 
And those still held the ancient faith. 
Then from his seat with lofty air 



The Norsemen, trained to spoil and blood. 
Skilled to prepare the raven's food, 
Kings of the main their leaders brave, 
Their barks the dragons of the wave ; 
And there, in many a stormy vale, 
The Scald had told his wondrous tale, 
And many a Runic column high 
Had witnessed grim idolatry. 
And thus had Harold in his youth 
Learned many a Saga's rhyme uncouth, — 
Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous curled, 
Whose monstrous circle girds the world ; 
Of those dread Maids whose hideous yell 
Maddens the battle's bloody swell ; 




Rose Harold, bard of brave Saint Clair, — 
.Saint Clair, who, feasting high at Home, 
Had with that lord to battle come. 
Harold was born where restless seas 
Howl round the storm-swept Orcades ; 
Where erst Saint Clairs held princely sway 
O'er isle and islet, strait and bay ; — 
.Still nods their palace to its fall. 
Thy pride and .sorrow, fair Kirkwall ! — 
Thence oft he marked fierce Pentland 

rave. 
As if grim Odin rode her wave. 
And watched the whilst, with visage pale 
And throbbing heart, the struggling sail ; 
For all of wonderful and wild 
Had rapture for the lonely child. 

XXII. 

And much of wild and wonderful 
In these rude isles might Fancy cull ; 
For thither came in times afar 
Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war. 



Of chiefs who. guided through the gloom 
By the pale death-lights of the tomb. 
Ransacked the graves of warriors old. 
Their falcliions wrenched from corpses' 

hold. 
Waked the deaf tomb with war's alarms. 
And bade the dead arise to arms ! 
With war and wonder all on flame. 
To Roslin's bowers young Harold came. 
Where, by sweet glen and greenwood 

tree. 
He learned a milder minstrelsy ; 
Yet something of the Northern spell 
Mixed with the softer numbers well. 



XXIII. 

HAROLD. 

O, listen, listen, ladies gay ! 

No haughty feat of arms I tell ; 
Soft is the note, and sad the lay. 

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



55 




' Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! 

And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! 
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, 

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 

' The blackening wave is edged with white; 

To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; 
The fishers have heard the Water Sprite, 

Whose screams forebode that wreck is 
nigh. 

' Last night the gifted Seer did view 
A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay ; 

Then stay thee, fair, in Ravensheuch : 
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ? ' 

' 'T is not because Lord Lindesay's heir 
To-night at Roslin leads the ball. 

But that my ladye-mother there 
Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 

''T is not because the ring they ride, 
And Lindesay at the ring rides well, 

But that my sire the wine will chide. 
If 'tis not filled by Rosabelle.' 

O'er Roslin all that dreary night 

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 

'T was broader than the watch-fire liglit. 
And redder than the brioht moonbeam. 



1 1 glared on Roslin's castled rock. 
It ruddied all the copsewood glen; 

'T was seen from Dreyden's groves of oak 
And seen from caverned Hawthornden. 

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud 
Where Roslin's chiefs uncofiined lie. 

Each baron, for a sable shroud, 
Sheathed in his iron panoply. 

Seemed all on fire within, around. 
Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; 

Shone every pillar foliage-bound, 

And glimmered all the dead men's mail. 

Blazed battlement and pinnet high. 

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — 

So still they blaze when fate is nigh 
The. lordly line of high Saint Clair. 

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold 
Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; 

Each one the holy vault doth hold — 
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle I 

And each Saint Clair was buried there, 
With candle, with book, and with knell : 

But the sea-caves rung and the wild winds- 
sung 
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 



56 



scorrs poetical works. 



So sweet was Harold's piteous lay, 

Scarce marked the guests the darkened 
hall, 
Though, long before the sinking day, 

A wondrous shade involved them all. 
It was not eddying mist or fog, 
Drained by the sun from fen or bog ; 

Of no eclipse had sages told ; 
And yet, as it came on apace. 
Each one could scarce his neighbor's face, 
Could scarce his own stretched hand 
behold. 
A secret horror checked the feast, 
And chilled the soul of every guest ; 
Even the high dame stood half aghast, 
She knew some evil on the blast ; 
The elfish page fell to the ground. 
And, shuddering, muttered, ' Found ! found ! 
found ! ' 



Then sudden through the darkened air 

A flash of lightning came ; 
So broad, so bright, so red the glare. 

The castle seemed on flame. 
Glanced every rafter of the hall. 
Glanced every shield upon the wall ; 
Each trophied beam, each sculptured stone, 
Were instant seen and instant gone ; 
Full through the guests' bedazzled band 



Resistless flashed the levin-brand, 

And filled the hall with smouldering smoke, 

As on the elfish page it broke. 

It broke with thunder long and loud, 

Dismayed the brave, appalled the proud, — 

From sea to sea the larum rung; 
On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal, 

To arms the startled warders sprung. 
When ended was the dreadful roar, 
The elfish dwarf was seen no more ! 

XXVI. 

Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall, 
Some saw a sight, not seen by all ; 
That dreadful voice was heard by some 
Cry, with loud summons, ' Gylbin, come ! ' 

And on the spot where burst the brand. 
Just where the page had flung him down. 

Some saw an arm, and some a hand. 
And some the waving of a gown. 
The guests in silence prayed and shook, i 
And terror dimmed each lofty look. 
But none of all the astonished train 
Was so dismayed as Deloraine : 
His blood did freeze, his brain did burn, 
'T was feared his mind would ne'er re- 
turn ; 
For he was speechless, ghastly, wan, 
Like him of whom the story ran. 
Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man. 
At length by fits he darkly told. 




THE LAY OF THE LAST MLVSTREL. 



57 



With broken hint and shuddering cold, 

That he had seen right certainly 
A shape with amice wrapped around. 
With a wrotight Spanish baldric bound, 

Like pilgrim from beyond the sea ; 
And knew — but how it mattered not — 
It was the wizard, Michael Scott. 



The anxious crowd, with horror pale. 
All tremblinjj heard the wondrous tale : 



And monks should sing and bells should 

toll, 
All for the weal of Michael's soul. 
While vows were ta'en and prayers were 

prayed, 
'T is said the noble dame, dismayed. 
Renounced for aye dark magic's aid. 

XXVIII. 

Nought of the bridal will I tell, 
Which after in short space befell ; 




No sound was made, no word ^vas spoke, 
Till noble Angus silence broke ; 

And he a solemn sacred plight 
Did to .Saint Bride of Douglas make, 
That he a pilgrimage would take 
To Melrose Abbey, for the sake 

Of Michael's restless sprite. 
Then each, to ease his troubled breast. 
To some blest saint his prayers addressed 
Some to Saint Modan made their vows. 
Some to Saint Mary of the Lowes, 
Some to the Holy Rood of Lisle, 
Some to Our Lady of the Isle ; 
Each did his patron witness make 
That he such pilgrimage would take, 



Nor how brave sons and daughters fair 
Blessed Teviot's Flower and Cranstoun's 

heir: 
After such dreadful scene 't were vain 
To wake the note of mirth again. 
More meet it were to mark the day 
Of penitence and prayer divine, 
I When pilgrim-chiefs, in sad array, 
Sought .Melrose' holy shrine. 

XXIX. 

With naked foot, and sackcloth vest. 
And arms enfolded on his breast, 
Did every pilgrim go ; 



58 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The standers-by might hear uneath 
Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn breath, 

Through all the lengthened row : 
No lordly look nor martial stride. 
Gone was their glory, sunk their pride, 

Forgotten their renown ; 
Silent and slow, like ghosts, they glide 
To the high altar's hallowed side, 

And there they knelt them down. 
Above the suppliant chieftains wave 
The banners of departed brave ; 
Beneath the lettered stones were laid 
The ashes of their fathers dead ; 




And far the echoing aisles jjrolong 

The awful burden of the song, 
Dies ir^e, dies k.la, 
solvet s^clum in favilla, 

While the pealing organ rung. 
Were it meet with sacred strain 
To close my lay, so light and vain. 

Thus the holy fathers sung ; 

%mm for {\]z Hcati. 

That day of wrath, that dreadful day. 
When heaven and earth shall pass away. 
What power shall be the sinner's stay .'^ 
How shall he meet that dreadful day ? 

When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, 
The flaming heavens together roll, 
When louder yet, and yet more dread, 
Swells the high trump that wakes the 
dead ! 

O, on that day, that wrathful day. 
When man to judgment wakes from clay. 
Be Thou the trembling sinner's stay, 
Though heaven and earth shall pass 
away ! 




From many a garnished niche around 
Stern saints and tortured martyrs frowned. 



And slow up the dim aisle afar. 
With sable cowl and scapular. 
And snow-white stoles, in order due, 
The holy fathers, two and two, 

In long procession came ; 
Taper and host and book they bare, 
And holy banner, flourished fair 

With the Redeemer's name. 
Above the prostrate pilgrim band 
The mitred abbot stretched his hand. 

And blessed them as they kneeled ; 
With holy cross he signed them all, 
And prayed they might be sage in hall 

And fortunate in field. 
Then mass was sung, and prayers were said, 
And solemn requiem for the dead ; 
And bells tolled out their mighty peal 
For the departed spirit's weal ; 
And ever in the office close 
The hymn of intercession rose : 



Hushed is the harp — the Minstrel gone. 

And did he wander forth alone ? 

Alone, in indigence and age. 

To linger out his pilgrimage ? 

No : close beneath proud Newark's tower 

Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower, 

A simple hut : but there was seen 

The little garden hedged with green. 

The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean. 

There sheltered wanderers, by the blaze, 

Oft heard the tale of other days ; 

For much he loved to ope his door, 

And give the aid he begged before. 

So passed the winter's day ; but still, 

When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill. 

And July's eve, with balmy breath, 

Waved the blue-bells on Newark heath, 

When throstles sung in Harehead-shaw, 

And corn was green on Carterhaugh, 

And flourished, broad, Blackandro's oak, 

The aged harper's soul awoke ! 

Then would he sing achievements high 

And circumstance of chivalry, 

Till the rapt traveller would stay. 

Forgetful of the closing day ; 

And noble youths, the strain to hear, 

P^orsook the hunting of the deer; 

And Yarrow, as he rolled along. 

Bore burden to the Minstrel's song. 




S%tr^f5ifr*f0|i 



armion: 



A TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD. 



Alas ! that Scottish maid should sing 

The combat where her lover fell ! 
That Scottish Bard should wake the string. 

The triumph of our foes to tell ! 

Leyden's Ode on Visiting Flodden. 



TO THE 

RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY, LORD MONTAGUE, 
&c., &c., &c., 

THIS ROMANCE IS INSCRIBED BY 
THE AUTHOR. 




INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 
To WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, ESQ. 

Ashesficl, Ettrick Forest. 

November's sky is chill and drear, 
November's leaf is red and sear : 
Late, gazing down the steepy linn 
That hems our little garden in, 
Low in its dark and narrow glen. 
You scarce the rivulet might ken, 
So thick the tangled greenwood grew, 
So feeble trilled the streamlet through ; 
Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen 
Through bush and brier, no longer green. 
An angry brook, it sweeps the glade. 
Brawls over rock and wild cascade. 
And, foaming brown with double speed. 
Hurries its waters to the Tweed. 



No longer autumn's glowing red 
Upon our Forest hills is shed ; 
No more, beneath the evening beam. 
Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam. 
Away hath passed the heather-bell 
That bloomed so rich on Needpath-fell ; 
Sallow his brow, and russet bare 
Are now the sister-heights of Yair. 
The sheep, before the pinching heaven. 
To sheltered dale and down are driven, 
Where yet some faded herbage pines, 
And yet a watery sunbeam shines ; 
In meek despondency they eye 
The withered sward and wintry sky, 
And far beneath their summer hill 
Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill. 
The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold. 
And wraps him closer from the cold : 
His dogs no merry circles wheel. 
But shivering follow at his h-eel ; 
A cowering glance they often cast. 
As deeper moans the gathering blast. 

My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild. 
As best befits the mountain child. 
Feel the sad influence of the hour. 
And wail the daisy's vanished flower. 
Their summer gambols tell, and mourn. 
And anxious ask, — Will spring return. 
And birds and lambs again be gay. 
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray ? 



62 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower 
Again shall paint your summer bower : 
Again the hawthorn shall supply 
The garlands you delight to tie ; 
The lambs upon the lea shall bound. 
The wild birds carol to the round ; 
And while you frolic light as they, 
Too short shall seem the summer day. 

To mute and to material things 
New life revolving summer brings ; 
The genial call dead Nature hears, 
^nd in her glory reappears. 
But oh ! my country's wintry state 
What second spring shall renovate ? 
What powerful call shall bid arise 
The buried warlike and the wise, 
The mind that thought for Britain's weal, 
The hand that grasped the victor steel } 
The vernal sun new life bestows 
Even on the meanest flower that blows ; 
But vainly, vainly may he shine 
Where Glory weeps o'ei' Nelson's shrine. 
And vainly pierce the solemn gloom 
That shrouds, O Pitt, thy hallowed tomb ! 

Deep graved in every British heart, 
Oh, never let those names depart ! 
Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave 
Who victor died on Gadite wave ! 
To him, as to the burning levin. 
Short, bright, resistless course was given ; 
Where'er his country's foes were found. 
Was heard the fated thunder's sound, 
Till burst the bolt on yonder shore. 
Rolled, blazed, destroyed, — and was no 
more. 

Nor mourn ye less his perished worth 
Who bade the conqueror go forth. 
And launched that thunderbolt of war 
On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar; 
Who, born to guide such high emprise, 
For Britain's weal was early wise ; 
Alas ! to whom the Almighty gave. 
For Britain's sins, an early grave ! 
His worth who, in his mightiest houi% 
A bauble held the pride of power, 
Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf, 
And served his Albion for herself ; 
Who, when the frantic crowd amain 
Strained at subjection's bursting rein. 
O'er their wild mood full conquest gained. 
The pride, he would not crush, restrained, 
Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause, 
And brought the freeman's arm to aid the 
freeman's laws. 

Hadst thou but lived, though stripped of 
power, 
A watchman on the lonely tower. 
Thy thrilling trump had roused the land. 



When fraud or danger were at hand ; 
By thee, as by the beacon-light. 
Our pilots had kept course aright ; 
As some proud column, though alone. 
Thy strength had propped the tottering! 
throne. I 

Now is the stately column broke. 
The beacon-light is quenched in smoke, 
The trumpet's silver sound is still. 
The warder silent on the hill ! 

Oh, think, how to his latest day. 
When Death, just hovering, claimed his prey, 
With Palinure's unaltered mood. 
Firm at his dangerous post he stood, 
Each call for needful rest repelled. 
With dying hand the rudder held. 
Till, in his fall, with fateful sway, ( 

The steerage of the realm gave way ! i 

Then, while on Britain's thousand plains 
One mipolluted church remains. 
Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
The bloody tocsin's maddening sound. 
But still, upon the hallowed day. 
Convoke the swains to praise and pray ; 
While faith and civil peace are dear, 
Grace this cold marble with a tear. 
He who preserved them. Pitt, lies here. 

Nor yet suppress the generous sigh 
Because his rival slumbers nigh, 
Nor be thy reqtdescat dumb 
Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb ; 
For talents mourn, untimely lost, 
When best employed and wanted most ; 
Mourn genius high, and lore profound. 
And wit that loved to play, not wound : 
And all the reasoning powers divine, 
To penetrate, resolve, combine : 
And feelings keen, and fancy's glow. 
They sleep with him who sleeps below : 
And, if thou mourn'st they could not save 
From error him who owns this grave. 
Be every harsher thought suppressed. 
And sacred be the last long rest. 
Here, where the end of earthly things 
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings ; 
Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue. 
Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung; 
Here, where the fretted aisles prolong 
The distant notes of holy song, 
As if some angel spoke again, 
' All peace on earth, good-will to men : " 
If ever from an English heart, 
Oh, here let prejudice depart, 
And, partial feeling cast aside, 
Record that f^ox a Briton died I 
When Europe crouched to France's yoke. 
And Austria bent, and Prussia broke, 
And the firm Russian's purpose brave 
Was bartered by a timorous slave, 



M ARM I ON. 



63 



Even then dishonor's peace he spurned,. 
The sullied olive-branch returned, 
Stood for his country's glory fast. 
And nailed her colors to the mast ! 
Heaven, to reward liis firmness, gave 
A portion in this honored grave. 
And ne'er held marble in its trust 
Of two such wondrous men the dust. 

With more than mortal powers endowed. 
How high they soared above the crowd ! 
Theirs was no common party race. 
Jostling by dark intrigue for place ; 
Like fabled Gods, their mighty war 
Shook realms and nations in its jar ; 
15eneath each banner proud to stand. 
Looked up the noblest of the land. 
Till through the British world were known 
The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
Spells of such force no wizard grave 
E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave, 
Though his could drain the ocean dry. 
And force the planets from the sky. 
These spells are spent, and, spent with these. 
The wine of life is on the lees. 
Genius and taste and talent gone, 
Forever tombed beneath the stone, 
Where — taming thought to human pride ! — 
The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 
Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 
'T will trickle to his rival's bier ; 
O'er Pitt's the mournful recjuiem sound, 
And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
The solemn echo seems to cry, — 
' Here let their discord with them die. 
Speak not for those a separate doom 
Whom Fate made brothers in the tomb ; 
But search the land, of living men. 
Where wilt thou find their like again .'' ' 

Rest, ardent spirits, till the cries 
Of dying nature bid you rise ! 
Not even your Britain's groans can pierce 
The leaden silence of your hearse ; 
Then, oh, how impotent and vain 
This grateful tributary strain ! 
Though not unmarked from northern clime, 
Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme: 
His Gothic harp has o'er you rung; 
The Bard you deigned to praise, your death- 
less names has sung. 

Stay yet, illusion, stay a while. 
My wildered fancy still beguile ! 
From this high theme how can I part. 
Ere half unloaded is my heart ! 
For all the tears e'er sorrow drew, 
And all the raptures fancy knew. 
And all the keener rush of blood 
That throbs through bard in bardlike mood. 



Were here a tribute mean and low. 
Though all their mingled streams could 

flow — 
Woe, wonder, and sensation high. 
In one spring-tide of ecstasy ! — 
It will not be — it may not last — 
The vision of enchantment 's past : 
Like frostwork in the morning ray. 
The fancy fabric melts away ; 
Each Gothic arch, memorial-stone, 
And long, dim, lofty aisle, are gone ; 
And, lingering last, deception dear, 
The choir's high sounds die on my ear. 
Now slow return the lonely down. 
The silent pastures bleak and brown. 
The farm begirt with copsewood wild. 
The gambols of each frolic child. 
Mixing their shrill cries with the tone 
Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on. 

Prompt on unequal tasks to run, 
Thus Nature disciplines her son : 
Meeter, she says, for me to stray. 
And waste the solitary day 
In plucking from yon fen the reed. 
And watch it floating down the Tweed, 
Or idly list the shrilling lay 
With which the milkmaid cheers her way. 
Marking its cadence rise and fail. 
As from the field, beneath her pail, 
She trips it down the uneven dale ; 
Meeter for me, by yonder cairn. 
The ancient shepherd's tale to learn, 
Though oft he stop in rustic fear, 
■ Lest his old legends tire the ear 
Of one who, in his simple mind. 
May boast of book-learned taste refined. 

But thou, my friend, canst fitly tell — 
For few have read romance so well — 
How still the legendary lay 
O'er poet's bosom holds its sway ; 
How on the ancient minstrel strain 
Time lays his palsied hand in vain ; 
And how our hearts at doughty deeds. 
By warriors wrought in steely weeds, 
Still throb for fear and pity's sake ; 
As when the Champion of the Lake 
Enters Morgana's fated house, 
Or in the Chapel Perilous, 
Despising spells and demons' force, 
Holds converse with the unburied corse; 
Or when. Dame Ganore's grace to move — 
Alas, that lawless was their love ! — 
He sought proud Tarquin in his den, 
And freed full sixty knights ; or when, 
A sinful man and unconfessed. 
He took the Sangreal's holy quest. 
And slumbering saw the vision high 
He might not view with waking eye. 



64 



SCOTT'S POETICAL IVORKS. 



The mightiest chiefs of British song 
Scorned not such legends to prolong. 
They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream, 
And mix in Milton's heavenly theme : 
And Dryden, in immortal strain, 
Had raised the Table Round again, 
But that a ribald king and court 
Bade him toil on, to make them sport; 
Demanded for their niggard pay, 
Fit for their souls, a looser lay, 
Licentious satire, song, and play ; 
The world defrauded of the high design, 
Profaned the God-given strength, and 
marred the lofty line. 

Warmed by such names, well may we then, 
Though dwindled sons of little men, 
Essay to break a feeble lance 
In the fair fields of old romance ; 
Or seek the moated castle's cell. 
Where long through talisman and spell. 
While tyrants ruled and damsels wept, 
Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept. 
There sound the harpings of the North, 
Till he awake and sally forth. 
On venturous quest to prick again. 
In all his arms, with all his train. 
Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and 

scarf. 
Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf, 
And wizard with his wand of might, 
And errant maid on palfrey white. 
Around the Genius weave their spells. 
Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells ; 
Mystery, half veiled and half revealed ; 
And Honor, with his spotless shield ; 
Attention, with fixed eye ; and Fear, 
That loves the tale she shrinks to hear : 
And gentle Courtesy; and Faith, 
Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death ; 
And Valor, lion-mettled lord. 
Leaning upon his own good sword. 

Well has thy fair achievement shown 
A worthy meed may thus be won : 
Ytene's oaks — beneath whose shade 
Their theme the merry minstrels made. 
Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold. 
And that Red King, who, while of old 
Through Boldrewood the chase he led, 
By his loved huntsman's arrow bled — 
Ytene's oaks have heard again 
Renewed such legendary strain ; 
For thou hast sung, how he of Gaul, 
That Amadis so famed in hall. 
For Oriana, foiled in fight 
The Necromancer's felon might ; 
And well in modern verse hast wove 
Partenopex's mystic love : 
Hear, then, attentive to my lay, 
A knightly tale of Albion's elder day. 



iHttrmion. 



CANTO FIRST. 



THE CASTLE. 



Dav set on Norham's castled steep. 
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep. 

And Cheviot's mountains lone ; 
The battled towers, the donjon keep. 
The loophole grates where captives weep. 
The flanking walls that round it sweep. 

In yellow lustre shone. 
The warriors on the turrets high. 
Moving athwart the evening sky, 

Seemed forms of giant height ; 
Their armor, as it caught the rays. 
Flashed back again the western blaze. 

In lines of dazzling light. 



Saint George's banner, broad and gay. 
Now faded, as the fading ray 

Less bright, and less, was flung ; 
The evening gale had scarce the power 
To wave it on the donjon tower. 

So heavily it hung. 
The scouts had parted on their search, 

The castle gates were barred ; 
Above the gloomy portal arch. 
Timing his footsteps to a march. 

The warder kept his guard. 
Low humming, as he paced along. 
Some ancient Border gathering song. 



A distant trampling sound he hears ; 
He looks abroad, and soon appears. 
O'er Horncliff-hiir, a plump of spears 

Beneath a pennon gay ; 
A horseman, darting from the crowd 
Like lightning from a summer cloud. 
Spurs on his mettled courser proud. 

Before the dark array. 
Beneath the sable palisade 
That closed the castle barricade, 

His bugle-horn he blew; 
The warder hasted from the wall. 
And warned the captain in the hall. 

For well the blast he knew ; 
And joyfully that knight did call 
To sewer, squire, and seneschal. 



' Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, 

Bring pasties of the doe, 
And quickly make the entrance free, 



M ARM ION. 



65 




And bid my heralds ready be, 
And every minstrel sound his glee, 

And all our trumpets blow ; 
And, from the platform, spare ye not 
To fire a noble salvo-shot ; 

Lord Marmion waits below ! ' 
Then to the castle's lower ward 

Sped forty yeomen tall. 
The iron-studded gates unbarred, 
Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard, 
The lofty palisade unsparred. 

And let the drawbridge fall. 



Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode. 
Proudly his red-roan charger trode, 
His helm hung at the saddle bow; 
Well by his visage you might know 
He was a stalworth knight and keen, 
And had in many a battle been ; 
The scar on his brown cheek revealed 
A token true of Bosworth field ; 
His eyebrow dark and eye of fire 
Showed spirit proud and prompt to ire, 
Yet lines of thought upon his cheek 
Did deep design and counsel speak. 
His forehead, by his casque worn bare, 
His thick moustache and curly hair. 
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there. 

But more through toil than age. 
His square-turned joints and strength 
limb. 



of 



Showed him no carpet knight so trim. 
But in close fight a champion grim. 
In camps a leader sage. 



Well was he armed from head to heel, 

In mail and plate of Milan steel ; 

But his strong helm, of mighty cost, 

Was all with burnished gold embossed. 

Amid the plumage of the crest 

A falcon hovered on her nest. 

With wings outspread and forward breast 

E'en such a falcon, on his shield, 

Soared sable in an azure field : 

The golden legend bore aright. 

' Who checks at me, to deafh is dight.' 

Blue was the charger's broidered rein ; 

Blue ribbons decked his arching mane ; 

The knightly housing's ample fold 

Was velvet blue and'trapped with gold. 



Behind him rode two gallant squires. 
Of noble name and knightly sires : 
They burned the gilded spurs to claim, 
For well could each a war-horse tame, . 
Could draw the bow, the sword could sw»y. 
And lightly bear the ring away ; 
Nor less with courteous precepts stored. 
Could dance in hall, and carve at board, 
And frame love-ditties passing rare, 
And sing them to a lady fair. 



66 



scorrs poetical works. 




Four men-at-arms came at their backs, 
With halbert, bill, and battle-axe ; 
They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong, 
And led his sumpter-mules along, 



And ambling palfrey, when at need 
Him listed ease his battle-steed. 
The last and trustiest of the four 
On high his forky pennon bore ; 
Like swallow's tail in shape and hue, 



M ARM ION. 



^7 




Fluttered the streamer glossy blue, 
Where, blazoned sable, as before, 
The towering falcon seemed to soar. 
Last, twenty yeomen, two and two, 
In hosen black and jerkins blue, 
With falcons broidered on each breast, 
Attended on their lord's behest. 
Each, chosen for an archer good, 
Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood ; 
Each one a six-foot bow could bend. 
And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ; 
Each held a boar-spear tough and strong. 
And at their belts their quivers rung. 
Their dusty palfreys and array 
Showed they had marched a weary way. 



'T is meet that I should tell you now, 
How fairly armed, and ordered how, 

The soldiers of the guard, 
With musket, pike, and morion. 
To welcome noble Marmion, 

Stood in the castle-yard; 
Minstrels and trumpeters were there, 
The gunner held his linstock yare, 

For welcome-shot prepared : 
Entered the train, and- such a clang 
As then through all his turrets rang 

Old Norham never heard. 



The guards their morrice-pikes advanced, 
The trumpets flourished brave, 



The cannon from the ramparts glanced, 

And thundering welcome gave. 
A blithe salute, in martial sort. 

The minstrels well might sound. 
For, as Lord Marmion crossed the court. 

He scattered angels round. 
• Welcome to Norham, Marmion ! 

Stout heart and open hand ! 
Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan. 

Thou flower of English land ! ' 



Two pursuivants, whom tabards deck. 
With silver scutcheon round their neck, 

Stood on the steps of stone 
By which you reach the donjon gate, 
And there, with herald pomp and state. 

They hailed Lord Marmion: 
They hailed him Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, 

Of Tamworth tower and town ; 
And he, their courtesy to requite. 
Gave them a chain of twelve marks' weight, 

All as he lighted down. 
' Now, largesse, largesse. Lord Marmion, 

Knight of the crest of gold ! 
A blazoned shield, in battle won. 

Ne'er guarded heart so bold.' * 



XIT. 

They marshalled him to the castle-hall, 

Where the guests stood all aside, 
And loudly flourished the trumpet-call, 



68 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




And the heralds loudly cried, — 
' Room, lordlings, room for Lord Marmion, 

With the crest and helm of gold ! 
Full well we know the trophies won 

In the lists at Cottiswold : 
There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 

'Gainst Marmion's force to stand; 
To him he lost his lady-love. 

And to the king his land. 
Ourselves beheld the listed field, 

A sight both sad and fair ; 
We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield. 

And saw his saddle bare ; 
We saw the victor win the crest 

He wears with worthy pride, 
And on the gibbet-tree, reversed, 

His foeman's scutcheon tied. 
Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight ! 

Room, room, ye gentles gay, 
For him who conquered in the right, 

Marmion of Fontenaye ! ' 



Then stepped, to meet that noble lord, 

Sir Hugh the Heron bold. 
Baron of Twisell and of Ford, 

And Captain of the Hold j 
He led Lord Marmion to the deas. 

Raised o'er the pavement high. 
And placed him in the upper place — 

They feasted full and high : 
The whiles a Northern harper rude 
Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, 

' How the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridleysall, 



Stout Willimondswick, 
And Hardriding Dick. 
And Hughie of Hawdon. and 
Will o' the Wall, 
Have set on Sir Albany Feath- 

erstonhaugh. 
And taken his life at the Dead- 
man's-shaw.' 
Scantly Lord Mai-mion's ear 
could brook 
The harper's barbarous lay. 
Yet much he praised the 
pains he took. 
And well those pains did 
pay ; 
For lady's suit and minstrers 

strain 
By knight should ne'er be heard 
in vain. 



xi\-. 
' Now, good Lord Marmion. 
Heron says, 
' Of your fair courtesy, 
I pray you bide some little 
space 
In this poor tower with me. 
Here may you keep your arms from rust, 

May breathe your war-horse well ; 
Seldom hath passed a week but joust 

Or feat of arms befell. 
The Scots can rein a mettled steed. 

And love to couch a spear ; — 
Saint George ! a stirring life they lead 

That have such neighbors near! 
Then stay with us a little space, 
Our Northern wars to learn ; 
I pray you for your lady's grace ! ' 
Lord Marmion's brow grew stern. 



The captain marked his altered look. 

And gave the squire the sign ; 
A mighty wassail-bowl he took. 

And crowned it high with wine. 
' Now pledge me here. Lord Marmion ; 

But larst I pray thee fair. 
Where hast thou left that page of thine 
That used to serve thy cup of wine. 

Whose beauty was so rare .'' 
When last in Raby-towers we met. 

The boy I closely eyed. 
And often marked his cheeks were wet 

With tears he fain would hide. 
His was no rugged horse-boy's hand, 
To burnish shield or sharpen brand, 

Or saddle battle-steed. 
But meeter seemed for lady fair, 
To fan her cheek, or curl her hair, 
Or through embroidery, rich and rare, 



MARMION. 



69 




The slender silk to lead : 
His skin was fair, his ringlets gold. 

His bosom — when he sighed, 
The russet doublet's rugged fold 

Could scarce repel its pride ! 
Say, hast thou given that lovely youth 

To serve in lady's bower ? 



Or was the gentle page, in sooth. 
A gentle paramour ? ' 



XVI. 



Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest ; 

He rolled his kindling eye. 
With pain his rising wrath suppressed, 



70 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Yet made a calm reply : 
' That boy thou thought so goodly fair. 
He might not brook the Northern air. 
More of his fate if thou wouldst learn. 
I left him sick in Lindisfarne. 
Enough of him. — But, Heron, say. 
Why does thy lovely lady gay 
Disdain to grace the hall to-day ? 
Or has that dame, so fair and sage, 
Gone on some pious pilgrimage ? ' — 
He spoke in covert scorn, for fame 
Whi.spered light tales of Heron's dame. 



1 have not ridden in Scotland since 
James backed the cause of that mock prince. 
Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit, 
Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 
Then did I march with Surrey's power. 
What time we razed old Ayton tower.' — 



' For such-like need, my lord, I trow, 
Norham can find you guides enow ; 
For here be some have pricked as far 
On Scottish ground as to Dunbar, 



"Cr'fe r 




Unmarked, at least unrecked, the taunt. 

Careless the knight replied : 
' No bird whose feathers gayly flaunt 

Delights in cage to bide : 
Norham is grim and grated close. 
Hemmed in by battlement and fosse. 

And many a darksome tower. 
And better loves my lady bright 
To sit in liberty and light 

In fair Queen Margaret's bower. 
We hold our greyhound in our hand, 

Our falcon on our glove, 
But where shall we find leash or band 

For dame that loves to rove ? 
Let the wild falcon soar her swing. 
She '11 stoop when she has tired her wing. 

.will. 
' Nay, if with Royal James's bride 
The lovely Lady Heron bide, 
Behold me here a messenger, 
Your tender greetings prompt to bear: 
For, to the Scottish court acldressed, 
I journey at our king's behest, 
And pray you, of your grace, provide 
For me and mine a trusty guide. 



Have drunk the monks of Saint Bothan's ale. 
And driven the beeves of Lauderdale, 
Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods, 
And given them light to set their hoods." — 



' Now, in good sooth,' Lord Marmion cried, 

' Were I in warlike wise to ride, 

A better guard I would not lack 

Than your stout forayers at my back : 

But as in form of peace I go, 

A friendly messenger, to know. 

Why, through all Scotland, near and far. 

Their king is mustering troops for war. 

The sight of plundering Border spears 

Might justify suspicious fears. 

And deadly feud or thirst of spoil 

Break out in some unseemly broil. 

A herald were my fitting guide ; 

Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ; 

Or pardoner, or travelling priest. 

Or strolling pilgrim, at the least." 



The captain mused a little space. 

And passed his hand across his face. — 

■ Fain would I find tlie guide you want, 



M ARM ION. 



71 



But ill may spare a pursuivant, 

The only men that safe can ride 

Mine errands on the Scottish side : 

And though a bishop built this fort, 

Few holy brethren here resort ; 

Even our good chaplain, as I ween. 

Since our last siege we have not seen. 

The mass he might not sing or say 

Upon one stinted meal a-day ; 

So, safe he sat in Durham aisle. 

And prayed for our success the while. 

Our Norham vicar, woe betide. 

Is all too well in case to ride ; 

The priest of Shoreswood — he could rein 

The wildest war-horse in your train, 

But then no spearman in the hall 

Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. 

Friar John of Tillmouth were the man ; 

A blithesome brother at the can. 

A welcome guest in hall and bower, 

He knows each castle, town, and tower. 

In which the wine and ale is good, 

"Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood. 

But that good man, as ill befalls, 

Hath seldom left our castle walls, 

Since, on the vigil of Saint Bede, 

In evil hour he crossed the Tweed, 

To teach Dame Alison her creed. 

Old Bughtrig found him with his wife, 

And John, an enemy to strife. 

Sans frock and hood, fled for his life. 

The jealous churl hath deeply swore 

That, if again he venture o'er. 

He shall shrieve penitent no more. 

Little he loves such risks, I know, 

Yet in your guard perchance will go.' 



Young Selby, at the fair hall-board. 
Carved to his uncle and that lord, 
And reverently took up the word : 
* Kind uncle, woe were we each one, 
If harm should hap to brother John. 
He is a man of mirthful speech. 
Can many a game and gambol teach ; 
Full well at tables can he play, 
And sweep at bowls the stake away. 
None can a lustier carol bawl. 
The needfuilest among us all. 
When time hangs heavy in the hall, 
And snow comes thick at Christmas tide, 
And we can neither hunt nor ride 
A foray on the Scottish side. 
The vowed revenge of Bughtrig rude 
May end in worse than loss of hood. 
Let Friar John in safety still 
In chimney-corner snore his fill. 
Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill ; 
Last night, to Norham there came one 
Will better guide Lord Marmion." — 



' Nephew,' quoth Heron, ' by my fay, 
Well hast thou spoke ; say forth thy say.' 



' Here is a holy Palmer come, 

From Salem first, and last from Rome ; 

One that hath kissed the blessed tomb. 

And visited each holy shrine 

In Araby and Palestine ; 

On hills of Armenie hath been, 

Where Noah's ark may yet be seen ; 

By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod. 

Which parted at the Prophet's rod ; 

In Sinai's wilderness he saw 

The Mount where Israel heard the law. 

Mid thunder-dint, and flashing levin. 

And shadows, mists, and darkness, given. 

He shows Saint James's cockle-shell. 

Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell ; 

And of that Grot where Olives nod. 
Where, darling of each heart and eye, 
From all the youth of Sicily, 

Saint Rosalie retired to God. 



' To stout Saint George of Norwich merrj. 
Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, 
Cuthbert qf Durham and Saint Bede, 
For his sins' pardon hath he prayed. 
He knows the passes of the North, 
And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth ; 
Little he eats, and long will wake. 
And drinks but of the stream or lake. 
This were a guide o'er moor and dale ; 
But when our John hath quafied his ale. 
As little as the wind that blows. 
And warms itself against his nose. 
Kens he, or cares, which way he goes.' — 



' Gramercy ! ' quoth Lord Marmion, 
' Full loath were I that Friar John, 
That venerable man, for me 
Were placed in fear or jeopardy : 
If this same Palmer will me lead 

From hence to Holy-Rood, 
Like his good saint, I '11 pay his meed. 
Instead of cockle-shell or bead. 

With angels fair and good. 
I love such holy ramblers ; still 
They know to charm a weary hill 

With song, romance, or lay : 
Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest, 
Some lying legend, at the least, 

They bring to cheer the way.' — 



• Ah ! noble sir,' young Selby said 
And finger on his lip he laid, 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' This man knows much, perchance e'en 

more 
Than he could learn by holy lore. 
Still to himself he 's muttering, 
And shrinks as at some unseen thing. 
Last night we listened at his cell ; 
Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell. 
He murmured on till morn, howe'er 
No living mortal could be near. 
Sometimes I thought I heard it plain, 
As other voices spoke again. 
I cannot tell — I like it not — 
Friar John hath told us it is wrote. 
No conscience clear and void of wrong 
Can rest awake and pray so long. 
Himself still sleeps before his beads 
Have marked ten aves and two creeds." — 



' Let pass,' quoth Marmion ; ' by my fay, 
This man shall guide me on my way. 
Although the great arch-fiend and he 
Had sworn themselves of company. 
So please you, gentle youth, to call 
This Palmer to the castle-hall.' 
The summoned Palmer came in place : 
His sable cowl o'erhung his face; 
In his black mantle was he clad, 
With Peter's keys, in cloth of red. 

On his broad shoulders wrought; 
The scallop shell his cap did deck ; 
The crucifix around his neck 

Was from Loretto brought ; 
His sandals were with travel tore. 
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore ; 
The faded palm-branch in his hand 
Showed pilgrim from the Holy Land. 



Whenas the Palmer came in hall, 

Nor lord nor knight was there more tall, 

Or had a statelier step withal. 

Or looked more high and keen ; 
For no saluting did he wait. 
But strode across the hall of state, 
And fronted Marmion where he sate. 

As he his peer had been. 
But his gaunt frame was worn with toil* 
His cheek was sunk, alas the while ! 
And when he struggled at a smile 

His eye looked haggard wild : 
Poor wretch, the mother that him bare, 
If she had been in presence there, 
In his wan face and sunburnt hair 

.She had not known her child. 
Danger, long travel, want, or woe, 
.Soon change the form that best we know 
For deadly fear can time outgo. 

And blanch at once the hair ; 
Hard toil can roughen form and face, 



And want can quench the eye's bright grace, 
Nor does old age a wrinkle trace 

More deeply than despair. 
Happy whom none of these befall. 
But this poor Palmer knew them all. 



Lord Marmion then his boon did ask ; 
The Palmer took on him the task. 
So he would march with morning tide. 
To Scottish court to be his guide. 
' But I have solemn vows to pay. 
And may not linger by the way. 

To fair Saint Andrew's bound. 
Within the ocean-cave to pray. 
Where good .Saint Rule his holy lay. 
From midnight to the dawn of day, 

Sung to the billows' sound ; 
Thence to .Saint Fillan's blessed well. 
Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, 

And the crazed brain restore. 
.Saint Mary grant that cave or spring 
Could back to peace my bosom bring. 

Or bid it throb no more ! ' 



And now the midnight draught of sleep. 
Where wine and spices richly steep, 
In massive bowl of silver deep, 

The page presents on knee. 
Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest, 
The captain pledged his noble guest. 
The cup went through among the rest, 

Who drained it merrily ; 
Alone the Palmer passed it by, 
Though Selby pressed him courteously. 
This was a sign the feast was o'er ; 
It hushed the merry wassail roar. 

The minstrels ceased to sound. 
Soon in the castle nought was heard 
But the slow footstep of the guard 

Pacins: his sober round. 



With early dawn Lord Marmion rose': 

And first the chapel doors unclose ; 

Then, after morning rites were done — 

A hasty mass from Friar John — 

And knight and squire had broke their fast 

On rich substantial repast, 

Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse. 

Then came the stirrup-cup in course : 

Between the baron and his host. 

No point of courtesy was lost ; 

High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid, 

Solemn excuse the captain made, 

Till, filing from the gate, had passed 

That noble train, their lord the last. 

Then loudly rung the trumpet call ; 



MARMION. 



73 




Thundered the cannon from the wall, 

And shook the Scottish shore : 
Around the castle eddied slow 
Volumes of smoke as white as snow 



And hid its turrets hoar, 
Till they rolled forth upon the air, 
And met the river breezes there, 
Which gave again the prospect fair. 



74 



SCOTT'S POETICAL If O A' AS. 




illarmion. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. 
To THE REV. JOHN MARRIOT, A.M. 

Ashestiel, EtMck Forest. 

The scenes are desert now and bare, 
Where flourished once a forest fair, 
When these waste glens with copse were 

lined, 
And peopled with the hart and hind. 
Yon thorn — perchance whose prickly spears 
Have fenced him for three hundred years, 
While fell around his green compeers — 
Yon lonely thorn, would he could tell 
The changes of his parent dell, 
Since he, so gray and stubborn now. 
Waved in each breeze a sapling bough ! 
Would he could tell how deep the shade 
A thousand mingled branches made ; 
How broad the shadows of the oak, 
How clung the rowan to the rock, 
And through the foliage showed his head, 
With narrow leaves and berries red ; 
What pines on every mountain sprung. 
O'er every dell what birches hung. 
In every breeze what aspens shook. 
What alders shaded every brook ! 

' Here, in my shade,' methinks he 'd say, 
* The mighty stag at noontide lay ; 
The wolf I 've seen, a fiercer game, — 
The neighboring dingle bears his name, — 
With lurching step around me prowl. 
And stop, against the moon to howl ; 
The mountain-boar, on battle set. 
His tusks upon my stem would whet ; 
While doe, and roe, and red-deer good. 
Have bounded by through gay greenwood. 
Then oft from Newark's riven tower 
Sallied a Scottish monarch's power : 
A thousand vassals mustered round. 
With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound ; 
And I might see the youth intent 
Guard every pass with crossbow bent ; 
And through the brake the rangers stalk, 
And falconers hold the ready hawk ; 



And foresters, in greenwood trim. 
Lead in the leash the gazehounds grim, 
Attentive, as the bratchet's bay 
From the dark covert drove the prey, 
To slip them as he broke away. 
The startled quarry bounds amain, 
As fast the gallant greyhounds strain ; 
Whistles the arrow from the bow. 
Answers the harquebuss below ; 
While all the rocking hills reply 
To hoof-clang, hound, and hunters' cry. 
And bugles ringing lightsomely.' 

Of such proud huntings many tales 
Yet linger in our lonely dales. 
Up pathless Ettrick and on Yarrow, 
Where erst the outlaw drew his arrow. 
But not more blithe that sylvan court. 
Than we have been at humbler sport ; 
Though small our pomp and mean our game. 
Our mirth, dear Marriot, was the same. 
Remember'st thou my greyhounds true .'' 
O'er holt or hill there never flew, 
From slip or leash there never sprang, 
More fleet of foot or sure of fang. 
Nor dull, between each merry chase. 
Passed by the intermitted space ; 
For we had fair resource in store, 
In Classic and in Gothic lore : 
We marked each memorable scene. 
And held poetic talk between ; 
Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along. 
But had its legend or its song. 
All silent now — for now are still 
Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill ! 
No longer from thy mountains dun 
The yeoman hears the well-known gun, 
And while his honest heart glows warm 
At thought of his paternal farm, 
Round to his mates a brimmer fills. 
And drinks, ' The Chieftain of the Hills ! ' 
No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers. 
Trip o'er the walks or tend the flowers. 
Fair as the elves whom Janet saw 
By moonlight dance on Carterhaugh : 
No youthful Baron 's left to grace 
The Forest-Sheriff's lonely chace, 
And ape, in manly step and tone, 
The majesty of Oberon : 
And she is gone whose lovely face 
Is but her least and lowest grace ; 
Though if to Sylphid Queen 't were given 
To show our earth the charms of heaven. 
She could not glide along the air 
With form more light or face more fair. 
No more the widow's deafened ear 
Grows quick that lady's step to hear : 
At noontide she expects her not, 
Nor busies her to trim the cot : 
Pensive she turns her humming wheel. 
Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal, 



MARMION. 



75 



Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread, 
The gentle hand by which they 're fed. 

From Yair — which hills so closely bind, 
Scarce can the Tweed his passage find. 
Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil. 
Till all his eddying currents boil — 
Her long-descended lord is gone, 
And left us by the stream alone. 
And much I miss those sportive boys. 
Companions of my mountain joys. 
Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth. 
When thought is speech, and speech is truth. 
Close to my side with what delight 
They pressed to hear of Wallace wight. 
When, pointing to his airy mound, 
I called his ramparts holy ground ! 
Kindled their brows to hear me speak ; 
And I have smiled, to feel my cheek, 
Despite the difference of our years. 
Return again the glow of theirs. 
Ah, happy boys ! such feelings pure, 
They will not, cannot long endure ; 
Condemned to stem the world's rude tide, 
You may not linger by the side ; 
For Fate shall thrust you from the shore 
And Passion ply the sail and oar. 
Yet cherish the remembrance still 
Of the lone mountain and the rill : 
For trust, dear boys, the time will come. 
When fiercer transport shall be dumb. 
And you will think right frequently. 
But, well I hope, without a sigh. 
On the free hours that we have spent 
Togfether on the brown hill's bent. 



When, musing on companions gone. 
We doubly feel ourselves alone. 
Something, my friend, we yet may gain ; 
There is a pleasure in this pain : 
It soothes the love of lonely rest. 
Deep in each gentler heart impressed. 
'Tis silent amid worldly toils, 
And stifled soon by mental broils ; 
But, in a bosom thus prepared. 
Its still small voice is often heard. 
Whispering a mingled sentiment 
'Twixt resignation and content. 
Oft in my mind such thoughts awake 
By lone Saint Mary's silent lake : 
Thou know'st it well, — nor fen nor sedge 
Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; 
Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink 
At once upon the level brink. 
And just a trace of silver sand 
Marks where the water meets the land. 
Far in the mirror, bright and blue, 
Each hill's huge outline you may view : 
Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare, 



Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake is there, 
Save where of land yon slender line 
Bears thwart the lake the scattered pine. 
Yet even this nakedness has power, 
And aids the feeling of the hour : 
Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy. 
Where living thing concealed might lie ; 
Nor point retiring hides a dell 
Where swain or woodman lone might dwell- 
There 's nothing left to fancy's guess, 
You see that all is loneliness : 
And silence aids — though the steep hills 
Send to the lake a thousand rills ; 
In summer tide so soft they weep. 
The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; 
Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude, 
So stilly is the solitude. 

Nought living meets the eye or ear. 
But well I ween the dead are near ; 
For though, in feudal strife, a foe 
Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low. 
Yet still, beneath the hallowed soil. 
The peasant rests him from his toil. 
And dying bids his bones be laid 
Where erst his simple fathers prayed. 

If age had tamed the passions' strife. 
And fate had cut my ties to life, 
Here have I thought 't were sweet to dwell. 
And rear again the chaplain's cell. 
Like that same peaceful hermitage. 
Where Milton longed to spend his age. 
'T were sweet to mark the setting da)- 
On Bourhope's lonely top decay. 
And, as it faint and feeble died 
On the broad lake and mountain's side. 
To say, ' Thus pleasures fade away ; 
Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay. 
And leave us dark, forlorn, and gray ; ' 
Then gaze on Dryhope's ruined tower, 
And think on Yarrow's faded Flower ; 
And when that mountain-sound I heard, 
Which bids us be for storm prepared, 
The distant rustling of his wings. 
As up his force the Tempest brings, 
'T were sweet, ere yet his terrors rave. 
To sit upon the Wizard's grave. 
That Wizard Priest's whose bones are thrust 
From company of holy dust ; 
On which no sunbeam ever shines — 
So superstition's creed divines — 
Thence view the lake with sullen roar 
Heave her broad billows to the shore ; 
And mark the wild-swans mount the gale. 
Spread wide through mist their snowy sail, 
And ever stoop again, to lave 
Their bosoms on the surging wave ; 
Then, when against the driving hail 



76 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



No longer might my plaid avail, 

Back to my lonely home retire, 

And light my lamp and trim my fire ; 

There ponder o'er some mystic lay, 

Till the wild tale had all its sway, 

And, in the bittern's distant shriek, 

I heard unearthly voices speak, 

And thought the Wizard Priest was come 

To claim again his ancient home ! 

And bade my busy fancy range. 

To frame him fitting shape and strange, 

Till from the task my brow I cleared, 

And smiled to think that 1 had feared. 

But chief 't were sweet to think such 
life — 
Though but escape from fortune's strife — 
Something most matchless good and wise, 
A great and grateful sacrifice, 
And deem each hour to musing given 
A step upon the road to heaven. 

Yet him whose heart is ill at ease 
Such peaceful solitudes displease ; 
He loves to drown his bosom's jar 
Amid the elemental war : 
And my black Palmer's choice had been 
Some ruder and more savage scene. 
Like that which frowns round dark Loch- 

skene. 
There eagles scream from isle to shore ; 
Down all the rocks the torrents roar ; 
O'er the black waves incessant driven. 
Dark mists infect the summer heaven : 
Through the rude barriers of the lake. 
Away its hurrying waters break. 
Faster and whiter dash and curl. 
Till down yon dark abyss they hurl. 
Rises the fog-smoke white as snow. 
Thunders the viewless stream below. 
Diving, as if condemned to lave 
Some demon's subterranean cave, 
Who, prisoned by enchanter's spell, 
Shakes the dark rock with groan and yell. 
And well that Palmer's form and mien 
Had suited with the stormy scene. 
Just on the edge, straining his ken 
To view the bottom of the den, 
Where, deep deep down, and far within. 
Toils with the rocks the roaring linn ; 
Then, issuing forth one foamy wave, 
And wheeling round the Giant's Grave, 
White as the snowy charger's tail. 
Drives down the pass of Moffatdale. 

Marriot, thy harp, on Isis strung, 
To many a Border theme has rung : 
Then list to me, and thou shalt know 
Of this mysterious Man of Woe. 




illormion. 



CANTO SECOND. 



THE CONVENT. 



The breeze which swept away the smoke 

Round Norham Castle rolled, 
When all the loud artillery spoke 
With lightning-flash and thunder-stroke, 

As Marmion left the hold, — 
It curled not Tweed alone, that breeze. 
For, far upon Northumbrian seas, 

It freshly blew and strong. 
Where, from high Whitby's cloistered pile. 
Bound to Saint Cuthbert's Holy Isle, 

It bore a bark along. 
Upon the gale she stooped her side, 
And bounded o'er the swelling tide. 

As she were dancing home ; 
The merry seamen laughed to see 
Their gallant ship so lustily 

Furrow the green sea-foam. 
Much joyed they in their honored freight ; 
For on the deck, in chair of state, 
The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed, . 
With five fair nuns, the galley graced. 



'T was sweet to see these holy maids, 
Like birds escaped to greenwood shades. 

Their first flight from the cage. 
How timid, and how curious too. 
For all to them was strange and new, 
And all the common sights they view 

Their wonderment engage. 
One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail, 

With many a benedicite ; 
One at the rippling surge grew pale, 

And would for terror pray. 
Then shrieked because the sea-dog nigh 
His round black head and sparkling eye 

Reared o'er the foaming spray; 



MARMION. 



77 




And one would still adjust her veil, 
Disordered by the summer gale, 
Perchance lest some more worldly eye 
Her dedicated charms might spy, 
Perchance because such action graced 
Her fair-turned arm and slender waist. 
Light was each simple bosom there, 
Save two, who ill might pleasure share. 
The Abbess and the Novice Clare. 



The Abbess was of noble blood, 
But early took the veil and hood, 
Ere upon life she cast a look. 
Or knew the world that she forsook. 
Fair too she was, and kind had been 
As she was fair, but ne'er had seen 
For her a timid lover sigh. 
Nor knew the influence of her eye. 
Love to her ear was but a name, 
Combined with vanity and shame : 
Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all 
Bounded within the cloister wall ; 
The deadliest sin her mind could reach 
Was of monastic rule the breach. 
And her ambition's highest aim 
To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. 
For this she gave her ample dower 
To raise the convent's eastern tower ; 
For this, with carving rare and quaint. 
She decked the chapel of the saint. 



And gave the relic-shrine of cost. 
With ivory and gems embossed. 
The poor her convent's bounty blest. 
The pilgrim in its halls found rest. 



Black was her garb, her rigid rule 
Reformed on Benedictine school ; 
Her cheek was pale, her form was spare: 
Vigils and penitence austere 
Had early quenched the light of youth : 
Bui gentle was the dame, in sooth ; 
Though, vain of her religious sway, 
She loved to see her maids obey. 
Yet nothing stern was she in cell. 
And the nuns loved their Abbess well. 
Sad was this voyage to the dame ; 
Summoned to Lindisfarne, she came. 
There, with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot old 
And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold 
A chapter of Saint Benedict, 
For inquisition stern and strict 
On two apostates from the faith. 
And, if need were, to doom to death. 



Nought say I here of Sister Clare, 
Save this, that she was young and fair ■ 
As yet a novice unprofessed. 
Lovely and gentle, but distressed. 
She was betrothed to one now dead, 



78 



scorrs poetical works. 



Or worse, who had dishonored fled. 
Her kinsmen bade her give her hand 
To one who loved her for her land ; 
Herself, almost heart-broken now, 
Was bent to take the vestal vow. 
And shroud within Saint Hilda's gloom 
Her blasted hopes and withered bloom. 



She sate upon the galley's prow. 

And seemed to mark the waves below ; 

Nay, seemed, so fixed her look and eye, 

To count them as they glided by. 

She saw them not — 't was seeming all — 

Far other scene her thoughts recall, — 

A sun-scorched desert, waste and bare, 

Nor waves nor breezes murmured there : 

There saw she where some careless hand 

O'er a dead corpse had heaped the sand. 

To hide it till the jackals come 

To tear it from the scanty tomb. — 

See what a woful look was given. 

As she raised up her eyes to heaven ! 



Lovely, and gentle, and distressed — 
These charms might tame the fiercest 

breast : 
Harpers have sung and poets told 
That he, in fury uncontrolled. 
The shaggy monarch of the wood, 
Before a virgin, fair and good. 
Hath pacified his savage mood. 
But passions in the human frame 
Oft put the lion's rage to shame ; 
And jealousy, by dark intrigue, 
With sordid avarice in league. 
Had practised with their bowl and knife 
Against the mourner's harmless life. 
This crime was charged 'gainst those who 

lay • 

Prisoned in Cuthbert's islet gray. 



And now the vessel skirts the strand 
Of mountainous Northumberland : 
Towns, towers, and halls successive rise. 
And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. 
Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them lay. 
And Tynemouth's priory and bay ; 
They marked amid her trees the hall 
Of lofty Seaton-Delaval ; 
They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods 
Rush to the sea through sounding woods : 
They passed the tower of Widderington, 
Mother of many a valiant son ; 
At Coquet-isle their beads they tell 
To the good saint who owned the cell; 
Then did the Alne attention claim. 
And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name ; 



And next they crossed themselves to hear 
The whitening breakers sound so near. 
Where, boiling through the rocks, they roar 
On Dunstanborough's caverned shore; 
Thy tower, proud Bamborough, marked 

they there. 
King Ida's castle, huge and square, 
From its tall rock look grimly down. 
And on the swelling ocean frown ; 
Then from the coast they bore away. 
And reached the Holy Island's bay. 



The tide did now its flood-mark gain, 
And girdled in the Saint's domain ; 
For, with the flow and ebb, its style 
Varies from continent to isle : 
Dry shod, o'er sands, twice every day 
The pilgrims to the shrine find way ; 
Twice every day the waves efface 
Of staves and sandalled feet the trace. 
As to the port the galley flew, 
Higher and higher rose to view 
The castle with its battled walls. 
The ancient monastery's halls, 
A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile. 
Placed on the margin of the isle. 



In Saxon strength that abbey frowned. 
With massive arches broad and round. 
That rose alternate, row and row. 
On ponderous columns, short and low. 

Built ere the art was known. 
By pointed aisle and shafted stalk 
The arcades of an alleyed walk 
To emulate in stone. 
On the deep walls the heathen Dane 
Had poured his impious rage in vain ; 
And needful was such strength to these. 
Exposed to the tempestuous seas. 
Scourged by the winds' eternal sway. 
Open "to rovers fierce as they. 
Which could twelve hundred years with- 
stand 
Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand. 
Not but that portions of the pile, 
Rebuilded in a later style. 
Showed where the spoiler's hand had been ; 
Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen 
Had worn the pillar's carving quaint. 
And mouldered in his niche the saint. 
And rounded with consuming power 
The pointed angles of each tower: 
Yet still entire the abbey stood. 
Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued. 



Soon as they neared his turrets strong. 
The maidens raised Saint Hilda's song, 



HARM I ON. 



79 




1 And with the sea-wave and the wind 
■ Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined, 
1 And made harmonious close ; 
^ Then, answering from the sandy shore, 
!J Half-drowned amid the breakers' roar. 
According chorus rose : 



Down to the haven of the Isle 
The monks and nuns in order file 
From Cuthbert's cloisters grim ; 
Banner, and cross, and relics there. 
To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare; 
And, as they caught the sounds on air, 



8o 



scorrs poetical works. 



They echoed back the hymn. 
The islanders in joyous mood 
Rushed emulously through the flood 

To hale the bark to land ; 
Conspicuous by her veil and hood, 
Signing the cross, the Abbess stood, 

And blessed them with her hand. 



Suppose we now the welcome said, 
Suppose the convent banquet made : 

All through the holy dome, 
Through cloister, aisle, and gallery, 
Wherever vestal maid might pry, 
Nor risk to meet unhallowed eye. 

The stranger sisters roam ; 
Till fell the evening damp with dew, 
And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew. 
For there even summer ni^t is chill. 
Then, having strayed and gazed their fill. 

They closed around the fire : 
And all, in turn, essayed to paint 
The rival merits of their saint, 

A theme that ne'er can tire 
A holy maid, for be it known 
That their saint's honor is their own. 



Then Whitbys nuns exulting told 
How to their house three barons bold 

Must menial service do. 
While horns blow out a note of shame, 
And monks cry, ' Fie wpon your name ! 
In wrath, for loss of sylvan game, 

Saint Hilda's priest ye slew.' — 
' This, on Ascension-day, each year 
While laboring on our harbor-pier. 
Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear.' - 
They told how in their convent-cell 
A Saxon princess once did dwell. 

The lovely Edelfied ; 
And how, of thousand snakes, each one 
Was changed into a coil of stone 

When holy Hilda prayed ; 
Themselves, within their holy bound. 
Their stony folds had often found. 



They told how sea-fowls" pinions fail, 
As over Whitby's towers they sail. 
And, sinking down, with flutterings faint, 
They do their homage to the saint. 



Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail 
To vie with these in holy tale ; 
His body's resting-place, of old, 
How oft their patron changed, they told ; 
How, when the rude Dane burned their pile, 
The monks fled forth from Holy Isle ; 
O'er Northern mountain, marsh, and moor, 
From sea to sea, from shore to shore, 
Seven years Saint Cuthbert's corpse they 
bore. 

They rested them in fair Melrose ; 
But though, alive, he loved it well. 

Not there his relics might repose ; 
For, wondrous tale to tell ! 

In his stone coffin forth he rides, 

A ponderous bark for river tides. 

Yet light as gossamer it glides 
' Downward to Tilmouth cell. 
Nor long was his abiding there. 
For southward did the saint repair ; 
Chester-le-Street and Ripon saw 
His holy corpse ere Wardilaw 

Hailed him with joy and fear ; 
And, after many wanderings past. 
He chose his lordly seat at last 
Where his cathedral, huge and vast. 

Looks down upon the Wear. 
There, deep in Durham's Gothic shade, 
His relics are in secret laid ; 

But none may know the place, 
Save of his holiest servants three, . 
Deep sworn to solemn secrecy. 

Who share that wondrous grace. 



Who may his miracles declare ? 

Even Scotland's dauntless king and heir — • 

Although with them they led 
Galwegians, wild as ocean's gale. 
And Loden's knights, all sheathed in mail. 




M ARM ION. 



8i 




And the bold men of Teviotdale — 

Before his standard fled. 
'T was he, to vindicate his reign, 
Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 
And turned the Conqueror back again, 
When, with his Norman bowyer band. 
He came to waste Northumberland. 



But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would learn 
If on a rock, by Lindisfarne, 
Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame 
The sea-born beads that bear his name ; 
Such tales had Whitby's fishers told, 
And said they might his shape behold. 

And hear his anvil sound ; 
A deadened clang, — a huge dim form, 
Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm 

And night were closing round. 
But this, as tale of idle fame. 
The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim. 

XVII. 

While round the fire such legends go, 
Far different was the scene of woe 
Where, in a secret aisle beneath. 
Council was held of life and death. 
It was more dark and lone, that vault. 

Than the worst dungeon cell ; 
Old Colwulf built it, for his faul*^ 
In penitence to dwell. 



When he for cowl and beads laid down 
The Saxon battle-axe and crown. 
This den, which, chilling every sense 

Of feeling, hearing, sight, 
Was called the Vault of Penitence, 

Excluding air and light. 
Was by the prelate Sexhelm made 
A place of burial for such dead 
As, having died in mortal sin. 
Might not be laid the church within. 
'T was now a place of punishment ; 
Whence if so loud a shriek were sent 

As reached the upper air. 
The hearers blessed themselves, and said 
The spirits of the sinful dead 

Bemoaned their torments there. 

XVIII. 

But though, in the monastic pile. 
Did of this penitential aisle 

Some vague tradition go, 
Few only, save the Abbot, knew 
Where the place lay, and still more few 
Were those who had from him the clew 

To that dread vault to go. 
Victim and executioner 
Were blindfold when transported there. 
In low dark rounds the arches hung, 
From the rude rock the side-walls sprung : 
The gravestones, rudely sculptured o'er, 
Half sunk in earth, by time half wore. 



82 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Were all the pavement of the floor ; 

The mildew-drops fell one by one, 

With tinkling plash, upon the stone. 

A cresset, in an iron chain, 

Which served to light this drear domain, 

With damp and darkness seemed to strive, 

As if it scarce might keep alive ; 

And yet it dimly served to show 

The awful conclave met below. 



There, met to doom in secrecy. 

Were placed the heads of convents three. 

All servants of Saint Benedict, 

The statutes of whose order strict 

On iron table lay ; 
In long black dress, on seats of stone. 
Behind were these three judges shown 

By the pale cresset's ray. 
The Abbess of Saint Hilda's there 
Sat for a space with visage bare. 
Until, to hide her bosom's swell, 
And tear-drops that for pity fell, 

She closely drew her veil ; 
Yon shrouded figure, as I guess, 
By her proud mien and flowing dress, 
Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress, 

And she with awe looks pale; 
And he, that ancient man, whose sight 
Has long been quenched by age's night, 
Upon whose wrinkled brow alone 
Nor ruth nor mercy's trace is shown, 

Whose look is hard and stern, — 
Saint Cutlibert's Abbot is his style, 
For sanctity called through the isle 

The Saint of Lindisfarne. 



Before them stood a guilty pair ; 
But, though an equal fate they share. 
Yet one alone deserves our care. 
Her sex a page's dress belied ; 
The cloak and doublet, loosely tied. 
Obscured her charms, but could not hide. 

Her cap down o'er her face she drew ; 
And, on her doublet breast, 

She tried to hide the badge of blue, 
Lord Marmion's falcon crest. 
But, at the prioress' command, 
A monk undid the silken band 

That tied her tresses fair. 
And raised the bonnet from her head, 
And down her slender form they spread 

In ringlets rich and rare. 
Constance de Beverley they know, 
Sister professed of Fontevraud, 
Whom the Church numbered with the dead, 
For broken vows and convent fled. 



When thus her face was given to view, - 
Although so pallid was her hue. 
It did a ghastly contrast bear 
To those bright ringlets glistering fair, - 
Her look composed, and steady eye. 
Bespoke a matchless constancy ; 
And there she stood so calm and pale 
That, but her breathing did not fail. 
And motion slight of eye and head, 
And of her bosom, warranted 
That neither sense nor pulse she lacks, 
You might have thought a form of wax, 
Wrought to the very life, was there ; 
So still she was, so pale, so fair. 



Her comrade was a sordid soul. 

Such as does murder for a meed ; 
Who, but of fear, knows no control, 
, Because his conscience, seared and foul. 

Feels not the import of his deed; 
One whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires 
Beyond his own more brute desires. 
Such tools the Tempter ever needs 
To do the savagest of deeds ; 
For them no visioned terrors daunt, 
Their nights no fancied spectres haunt ; 
One fear with them, of all most base, 
The fear of death, alone finds place. 
This wretch was clad in frock and cowl, 
And shamed not loud to moan and howl, 
His body on the floor to dash. 
And crouch, like hound beneath the lash 
While his mute partner, standing near, 
Waited her doom without a tear. 



Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek, 
Well might her paleness terror speak ! 
For there were seen in that dark wall 
Two niches, narrow, deep, and tall ; — 
Who enters at such grisly door 
Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more.. 
In each a slender meal was laid. 
Of roots, of water, and of bread ; 
By each, in Benedictine dress. 
Two haggard monks stood motionless, 
Who, holding high a blazing torch, 
Showed the grim entrance of the porch; 
Reflecting back the smoky beam. 
The dark-red walls and arches gleam. 
Hewn stones and cement were displayed. 
And building tools in order laid. 



These executioners were chose 

As men who were with mankind foes, 

And, with despite and envy fired. 



M ARM ION. 



83 




Into the cloister had retired, 

Or who, in desperate doubt of grace. 
Strove by deep penance to efface 

Of some foul crime the stain ; 
For, as the vassals of her will, 



Such men the Church selected still 
As either joyed in doing ill, 
Or thought more grace to gain 
If in her cause they wrestled down 
Feelings their nature strove to own. 



84 



SCOTT'S POETICAL IVORKS. 



By strange device were they brought there, 
They knew not how, and knew not where. 



And now that bhnd old abbot rose, 

To speak the Chapter's doom 
On those the wall was to enclose 

Alive within the tomb, 
But stopped because that woful maid, 
Gathering her powers, to speak essayed; 
Twice she essayed, and twice in vain, 
Her accents might no utterance gain ; 
Nought but imperfect murmurs slip 
From her convulsed and quivering lip : 
'Twixt each attempt all was so still, 
You seemed to hear a distant rill — 

'T was ocean's swells and falls ; 
For though this vault of sin and fear 
Was to the sounding surge so near, 
A tempest there you scarce could hear, 
So massive were the walls. 



At length, an effort sent apart 

The blood that curdled to her heart, 

And light came to her eye, 
And color dawned upon her cheek, 
A hectic and a fluttered streak, 
Like that left on the Cheviot peak 

By Autumn's stormy sky ; 
And when her silence broke at length, 
Still as she spoke she gathered strength, 

And armed herself to bear. 
It was a fearful sight to see 
.Such high resolve and constancy 

In form so soft and fair. 

XXVII. 

' I speak not to implore your grace. 
Well know I for one minute's space 

Successless might I sue : 
Nor do I speak your prayers to gain ; 
For if a death of lingering pain 
To cleanse my sins be penance vain. 

Vain are your masses too. — 
I listened to a traitor's tale, 
1 left the convent and the veil ; 
For three long years I bowed my pride. 
A horse-boy in his train to ride ; 
And well my folly's meed he gave, 
Who forfeited, to be his slave, 
All here, and all beyond the grave. 
He saw young Clara's face more fair, 
He knew her of broad lands the heir, 
Forgot his vows, his faith forswore. 
And Constance was beloved no more. 

'T is an old tale, and often told ; 

But did my fate and wish agree, 
Ne'er had been read, in story old. 



Of maiden true betrayed for gold. 
That loved, or was avenged, like me ! 



' The king approved his favorite's aim ; 
In vain a rival barred his claim. 

Whose fate with Clare's was plight, 
For he attaints that rival's fame 
With treason's charge — and on they came 

In mortal lists to fight. 
Their oaths are said. 
Their prayers are prayed, 
Their lances in the rest are laid. 

They meet in mortal shock ; 
And hark ! the throng, with thundering cry. 
Shout " Marmion, Marmion ! to the sky, 

De Wilton to the block ! " 
Say, ye who preach Heaven shall decide 
When in the lists two champions ride, 

Say, was Heaven's justice here? 
When, loyal in his love and faith, 
Wilton found overthrow or death 

Beneath a traitor's spear ? 
How false the charge, how true he fell, 
This guilty packet best can tell.' 
Then drew a packet from her breast. 
Paused, gathered voice, and spoke the rest. 



' Still was false Marmion's bridal stayed ; 
To Whitby's convent fled the maid. 

The hated match to shun. 
" Ho ! shifts she thus ? " King Henry cried, 
" Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride. 

If she were sworn a nun." 
One way remained — the king's command 
Sent Marmion to the Scottish land; 
I lingered here, and rescue planned 

For Clara and for me : 
This caitiff monk for gold did swear 
He would to Whitby's shrine repair. 
And by his drugs my rival fair 

A saint in heaven should be ; 
But ill the dastard kept his oath, , 
Whose cowardice hath undone us both. 



' And now my tongue the secret tells. 
Not that remorse my bosom swells, 
But to assure my soul that none 
Shall ever wed with Marmion. 
Had fortune my last hope betrayed. 
This packet, to the king conveyed. 
Had given him to the headsman's stroke. 
Although my heart that instant broke. ■ — 
Now, men of death, work forth your will. 
For I can suffer, and be still ; 
And come he slow, or come he fast. 
It is but Death who comes at last. 



M ARM ION. 



85 



' Yet dread me from my livins: tomb, 
Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome ! 
If Marmion's late remorse should wake. 
Full soon such vengeance will he take 
That you shall wish the fiery Dane 
Had rather been your guest again. 
Behind, a darker hour ascends ! 
The altars quake, the crosier bends, 
The ire of a despotic king 
Rides forth upon destruction's wing; 
Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep. 
Burst open to the sea-winds' sweep ; 
Some traveller then shall find my bones 
Whitening amid disjointed stones, 
And, ignorant of priests' cruelty. 
Marvel such relics here should be.' 



Fixed was her look and stern her air : 
Back from her shoulders streamed her hair ; 
The locks that wont her brow to shade 
Stared up erectly from her head ; 
Her figure seemed to rise more high ; 
Her voice despair's wild energy 
Had given a tone of prophecy. 
Appalled the astonished conclave sate ; 
With stupid eyes, the men of fate 
Gazed on the light inspired form, 
And listened for the avenging storm ; 
The judges felt the victim's dread ; 
No hand was moved, no word was said. 
Till thus the abbot's doom was given, 
Raising his sightless balls to heaven : 
' Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 



.Sinful brother, part in peace ! ' 

From that dire dungeon, place of doom. 
Of execution too, and tomb. 

Paced forth the judges three ; 
Sorrow it were and shame to tell 
The butcher-work that there befell. 
When they had glided from the cell 

Of sin and misery. 

XXXIII. 

An hundred winding steps convey 
That conclave to the upper day ; 
But ere they breathed the fresher air 
They heard the shriekings of despair, 

And many a stifled groan. 
With speed their upward way they take, — 
Such speed as age and fear can make, — 
And crossed themselves for terror's sake, 

As hurrying, tottering on. 
Even in the vesper's heavenly tone 
They seemed to hear a dying groan. 
And bade the passing knell to toll 
For welfare of a parting soul. 
Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, 
Northumbrian rocks in answer rung ; 
To Warkworth cell the echoes rolled. 
His beads the wakeful hermit told ; 
The Bamborough peasant raised his head, 
But slept ere half a prayer he said ; 
So far was heard the mighty knell. 
The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, 
Spread his broad nostril to the wind, 
Listed before, aside, behind. 
Then couched him down beside the hind. 
And quaked among the mountain fern. 
To hear that sound so dull and stern. 




m 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'U. 







fllarmion. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. 
To WILLIAM ERSKINE, ESQ. 

Ashcstiel, Ettrick Forest. 

Like April morning clouds, that pass 
With varying shadow o'er the grass, 
And imitate on field and furrow 
Life's checkered scene of joy and sorrow ; 
Like streamlet of the mountain north, 
Now in a torrent racing forth, 
Now winding slow its silver train, 
And almost slumbering on the plain ; 
Like breezes of the autumn day. 
Whose voice inconstant dies away. 
And ever swells again as fast 
When the ear deems its murmur past ; 
Thus various, my romantic theme 
Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning dream. 
Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 
Of Light and Shade's inconstant race ; 
Pleased, views the rivulet afar. 
Weaving its maze irregular ; 
And pleased, we listen as the breeze 
Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn trees : 
Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or gale. 
Flow on, flow unconfined, my tale ! 

Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell 
I love the license all too well, 
In sounds now lowly, and now strong. 
To raise the desultory song? 
Oft, when mid such capricious chime 
Some transient fit of loftier rhyme 
To thy kind judgment seemed excuse 
For many an error of the muse. 
Oft hast thou said, ' If, still misspent. 
Thine hours to poetry are lent, 
Go, and to tame thy wandering course. 
Quaff from the fountain at the source ; 
Approach those masters o'er whose tomb 
Immortal laurels ever bloom : 
Instructive of the feebler bard. 
Still from the grave their voice is heard ; 
From them, and from the paths they showed. 



Choose honored guide and practised road : 
Nor ramble on through brake and maze. 
With harpers rude of barbarous days. 

'Or deem'st thou not our later time 
Yields topic meet for classic rhyme .? 
Hast thou no elegiac verse 
For Brunswick's venerable hearse ? 
What ! not a line, a tear, a sigh. 
When valor bleeds for liberty.^ — 
Oh, hero of that glorious time. 
When, with unrivalled light sublime, — 
Though martial Austria, and though all 
The might of Russia, and the Gaul, 
Though banded Europe stood her foes — 
The star of Brandenburg arose ! 
Thou couldst not live to see her beam 
Forever quenched in Jena's stream. 
Lamented chief! — it was not given 
To thee to change the doom of Heaven. 
And crush that dragon in its birth, 
Predestined scourge of guilty earth. 
Lamented chief ! — not thine the power 
To save in that presumptuous hour 
When Prussia hurried to the field. 
And snatched the spear, but left the shield I 
Valor and skill 't was thine to try. 
And, tried in vain, 't was thine to die. 
Ill had it seemed thy silver hair 
The last, the bitterest pang to share, 
For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven, 
And birthrights to usurpers given; 
Thy land's, thy children's wrongs to feel, 
And witness woes thou couldst not heal ! 
On thee relenting Heaven bestows 
For honored life an honored close ; 
And when revolves, in time's sure change. 
The hour of Germany's revenge. 
When, breathing fury for her sake. 
Some new Arminius shall awake. 
Her champion, ere he strike, shall come 
To whet his sword on Brunswick's tomb. 

' Or of the Red-Cross hero teach. 
Dauntless in dungeon as on breach. 
Alike to him the sea, the shore. 
The brand, the bridle, or the oar : 
Alike to him the war tl,iat calls 
Its votaries to the shattered walls 
Which the grim Turk, besmeared with blood. 
Against the Invincible made good ; 
Or that whose thundering voice could wake 
The silence of the polar lake. 
When stubborn Russ and mettled Swede 
On the warped wave their death-game 

played ; 
Or that where Vengeance and Affright 
Howled round the father of the fight, 
Who snatched on Alexandria's sand 
The conqueror's wreath with dying hand. 



M ARM I ON. 



87 



' Or, if to touch such chord be thine. 
Restore the ancient tragic Hne, 
And emulate the notes that rung 
From the wild harp which silent hung 
By silver Avon's holy shore 
Till twice an hundred years rolled o'er: 
When she, the bold Enchantress, came. 
With fearless hand and heart on flame, 
From the pale willow snatched the treasure, 
And swept it with a kindred measure, 
Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove 
With Montfort's hate and Basil's love, 
Awakening at the inspired strain. 
Deemed theirown Shakespeare lived again.' 

Thy friendship thus thy judgment wrong- 
ing 
With praises not to me belonging, 
In task more meet for mightiest powers 
Wouldst thou engage my thriftless hours. 
But say, my Erskine, hast thou weighed 
That secret power by all obeyed. 
Which warps not less the passive mind. 
Its source concealed or undefined; 
Whether an impulse, that has birth 
Soon as the infant wakes on earth. 
One with our feelings and our powers, 
And rather part of us than ours ; 
Or whether fitlier termed the sway 
Of habit, formed in early day ? 
Howe'er derived, its force confessed 
Rules with despotic sway the breast. 
And drags us on by viewless chain. 
While taste and reason plead in vain. 
Look east, and ask the lielgian why, 
Beneath Batavia's sultry sky. 
He seeks not eager to inhale 
The freshness of the mountain gale, 
Content to rear his whitened wall 
Beside the dank and dull canal ? 
He '11 say, from youth he loved to see 
The white sail gliding by the tree. 
Or see yon weather-beaten hind. 
Whose sluggish herds before him wind, 
Whose tattered plaid and rugged cheek 
His northern clime and kindred speak ; 
Through England's laughing meads he goes, 
And England's wealth around him flows ; 
Ask if it would content him well. 
At ease in those gay plains to dwell. 
Where hedge-rows spread a verdant screen, 
And spires and forests intervene, 
And the neat cottage peeps between .^ 
No ! not for these will he exchange 
His dark Lochaber's boundless range. 
Not for fair Devon's meads forsake 
Ben Nevis gray and Garry's lake. 

Thus while I ape the measure wild 
Of tales that charmed me yet a child, 
Rude though they be, still with the chime 



Return the thoughts of early time ; 

And feelings, roused in life's first day, 

Glow in the line and prompt the lay. 

Then rise those crags, that mountain tower, 

Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour. 

Though no broad river swept along. 

To claim, perchance, heroic song, 

Though sighed no groves in summer gale, 

To prompt of love a softer tale. 

Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed 

Claimed homage from a shepherd's reed, 

Yet was poetic impulse given 

By the green hill and clear blue heaven. 

It was a barren scene and wild. 

Where naked cliffs were rudely piled, 

But ever and anon between 

Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green ; 

And well the lonely infant knew 

Recesses where the wall-flower grew. 

And honeysuckle loved to crawl 

Up the low crag and ruined wall. 

I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade 

The sun in all its round surveyed ; 

And still I thought that shattered tower 

The mightiest work of human power. 

And marvelled as the aged hind 

With some strange tale bewitched my mind 

Of forayers, who with headlong force 

Down from that strength had spurred their 

horse. 
Their southern rapine to renew 
Far in the distant Cheviots blue, 
And, home returning, filled the hall 
With revel, wassail-rout, and brawl. 
Methought that still with trump and clang 
The gateway's broken arches rang ; 
Methought grim features, seamed with scars. 
Glared through the window's rusty bars, 
And ever, by the winter hearth. 
Old tales I heard of woe or mirth. 
Of lovers' sleights, of ladies' charms. 
Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms ; 
Of patriot battles, won of old 
By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold : 
Of later fields of feud and fight. 
When, pouring from their Highland height, 
The Scottish clans in headlong sway 
Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 
While stretched at length upon the floor, 
Again I fought each combat o'er. 
Pebbles and shells, in order laid, 
The mimic ranks of war displayed ; 
And onward still the Scottish Lion bore, 
And still the scattered Southron fled before. 

Still, with vain fondness, could I trace 
Anew each kind familiar face 
That brightened at our evening fire ! 
From the thatched mansion's gray-haired 

sire. 
Wise without learning, plain and good, 



88 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood ; 
Whose eye in age, quick, clear, and keen. 
Showed what in youth its glance had been ; 
Whose doom discording neighbors sought. 
Content with equity unbought ; 
To him the venerable priest. 
Our frequent and familiar guest, 
Whose life and manners well could paint 
Alike the student and the saint, 
Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke 
With gambol rude and timeless joke : 
For I was wayward, bold, and wild, 
A self-willed imp, a grandame's child, 
But half a plague, and half a jest, 
Was still endured, beloved, caressed. 

From me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask 
The classic poet's well-conned task ? 
Nay, Erskine, nay — on the wild hill 
Let the wild heath-bell flourish still ; 
Cherish the tulip, prune the vine. 
But freely let the woodbine twine, 
And leave untrimmed the eglantine : 
Nay, my friend, nay — since oft thy praise 
Hath given fresh vigor to my lays, 
Since oft thy judgment could retine 
My flattened thought or cumbrous line, 
Still kind, as is thy wont, attend, 
And in the minstrel spare the friend. 
Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale. 
Flow forth, flow unrestrained, my tale ! 




iEarmion. 



CANTO THIRD. 



THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 



The livelong day Lord Marmion rode ; 
The mountain path the Palmer showed 
By glen and streamlet winded still, 
Where stunted birches hid the rill. 
They might not choose the lowland road, 
For the Merse forayers were abroad. 
Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey, 



Had scarcely failed to bar their way. 

Oft on the trampling band from crown 

Of some tall cliff the deer looked down ; 

On wing of jet from his repose 

In the deep heath the blackcock rose ; 

Sprung from the gorse the timid roe, 

Nor waited for the bending bow ; 

And when the stony path began 

By which the naked peak they wan, 

LTp flew the snowy ptarmigan. 

The noon had long been passed before 

They gained the height of Lammermoor ; 

Thence winding down the northern way, 

Before them at the close of day 

Old Gifford's towers and hamlet lay. 



No summons calls them to the tower. 
To spend the hospitable hour. 
To Scotland's camp the lord was gone ; 
His cautious dame, in bower alone, 
Dreaded her castle to unclose. 
So late, to unknown friends or foes. 
On through the hamlet as they paced. 
Before a porch whose front was graced 
With bush and flagon trimly placed. 

Lord Marmion drew his rein : 
The village inn seemed large, though 

rude ; 
Its cheerful fire and hearty food 
Might well relieve his train. 
Down from their seats the horsemen sprung, 
With jingling spurs the court-yard rung ; 
They bind their horses to the stall. 
For forage, food, and firing call, 
And various clamor fills the hall : 
Weighing the labor with the cost, 
Toils everywhere the bustling host. 



Soon, by the chimney's merry blaze, 
Through the rude hostel might you gaze. 
Might see where in dark nook aloof 
The rafters of the sooty roof 

Bore wealth of winter cheer ; 
Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store, 
And gammons of the tusky boar. 

And savory haunch of deer. 
The chimney arch projected wide; 
Above, around it, and beside. 

Were tools for housewives' hand ; 
Nor wanted, in that martial day. 
The implements of Scottish fray. 

The buckler, lance, and brand. 
Beneath its shade, the place of state, 
On oaken settle Marmion sate. 
And viewed around the blazing hearth 
His followers mix in noisy mirth ; 
Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide. 



MARMION. 



89 




From ancient vessels ranged aside 
Full actively their host supplied. 



Theirs was the glee of martial breast, 
And laughter theirs at little jest; 
And oft Lord Marmion deigned to aid, 
And mingle in the mirth they made ; 
For though, with men of high degree, 
The proudest of the proud was he. 
Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art 
To win the soldier's hardy heart. 
They love a captain to obey. 
Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May 
With open hand and brow as free, 
Lover of wine and minstrelsy ; 
Ever the first to scale a tower, 
As venturous in a lady's bower : — 
Such buxom chief shall lead his host 
From India's fires to Zembla's frost. 



Resting upon his pilgrim staff, 
Right opposite the Palmer stood. 

His thin dark visage seen but half. 
Half hidden by his hood. 

Still fixed on Marmion was his look, 

Which he, who ill such gaze could brook, 
Strove by a frown to quell ; 

But not for that, though more than once 



Full met their stern encountering glance. 
The Palmer's visage fell. 



By fits less frequent from the crowd 
Was heard the burst of laughter loud : 
For still, as squire and archer stared 
On that dark face and matted beard. 

Their glee and game declined. 
All gazed at length in silence drear, 
Unbroke save when in comrade's ear 
Some yeoman, wondering in his fear. 

Thus whispered forth his mind : 
' Saint Mary ! saw'st thou e'er such sight ? 
How pale his cheek, his eye how bright. 
Whene'er the firebrand's fickle light 

Glances beneath his cowl ! 
Full on our lord he sets his eye ; 
For his best palfrey would not I 

Endure that sullen scowl.' 



But Marmion, as to chase the awe 

Which thus had quelled their hearts who 

saw 
The ever-varying firelight show 
That figure stern and face of woe. 

Now called upon a squire : 
' Fitz-Eustace, know'st thou not some lay. 
To speed the lingering night away ? 

We slumber by the fire.' 



90 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' So please you,' thus the youth rejoined, 
' Our choicest minstrel 's left behind. 
Ill may we hope to please your ear, 
Accustomed Constant's strains to hear. 
The harp full deftly can he strike. 
And wake the lover's lute alike ; 
To dear Saint Valentine no thrush 
Sings livelier from a springtide bush, 
No nightingale her lovelorn tune 
More sweetly warbles to the moon. 
Woe to the cause, whate'er it be. 
Detains from us his melody, 
Lavished on rocks and billows stern, 
Or duller monks of Lindisfarne. 
Now must I venture as I may. 
To sing his favorite roundelay.' 



A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had. 
The air he chose was wild and sad : 
Such have I heard in Scottish land 
Rise from the busy harvest band, 
When falls before the mountaineer 
On Lowland plains the ripened ear. 
Now one shrill voice the notes prolong, 
Now a wild chorus swells the song : 
Oft have I hstened and stood still 
As it came softened up the hill. 
And deemed it the lament of men 
Who languished for their native glen. 



And thought how sad would be such sound 
On Susc[uehanna's swampy ground, 
Kentucky's wood-encumbered brake, 
Or wild Ontario's boundless lake, 
Where heart-sick exiles in the strain 
Recalled fair Scotland's hills again ! 

X. 

SONG. 

Where shall the lover rest, 

Whom the fates sever 
From his true maiden's breast. 

Parted forever ? 
Where, through groves deep and high. 

Sounds the far billow, 
Where early violets die. 

Under the willow. 



Eleii loro, etc. 



CHORUS. 

Soft shall be his pillow. 



There, through the summer day, 

Cool streams are laving ; 
There, while the tempests sway, 

Scarce are boughs waving : 
There thy rest shalt thou take, 

Parted forever. 
Never again to wake, 

Never, O never-! 



E/cu loro, etc. 



CHORUS. 

Never. O never ! 




M ARM I ON. 



91 




Where shall the traitor rest, 

He the deceiver. 
Who could win maiden's breast, 

Ruin and leave her? 
In the lost battle. 

Borne down by the flying, 
Where mingles war's rattle 

With groans of the dying. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu lofo, etc. There shall he be lying. 

Her wing shall the eagle flap 

O'er the false-hearted ; 
His warm blood the wolf shall lap, 

Ere life be parted. 
Shame and dishonor sit 

By his grave ever ; 
Blessing shall hallow it, — 

Never, O never ! 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loj'o, etc. Never, O never ! 



It ceased, the melancholy sound. 
And silence sunk on all around. 
The air was sad ; but sadder still 
It fell on Marmion's ear, 



And plained as if disgrace and ill. 
And shameful death, were near. 

He drew his mantle past his face, 
Between it and the band, 

And rested with his head a space 
Reclining on his hand. 

His thoughts I scan not ; but I ween 

That, could their imjDort have been seen. 

The meanest groom in all the hall. 

That e'er tied courser to a stall, 

Would scarce have wished to be their 
prey, 

For Lutterward and Fontenaye. 

XIJI. 

High minds, of native pride and force. 
Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse ! 
Fear for their scourge mean villains have. 
Thou art the torturer of the brave ! 
Yet fatal strength they boast to steel 
Their minds to bear the wounds they feel, 
Even while they writhe beneath the smart 
Of civil conflict in the heart. 
For soon Lord Marmion raised his head. 
And smiling to Fitz-Eustace said : 
' Is it not strange that, as ye sung, 
Seemed in mine ear a death-peal rung. 
Such as in nunneries they toll 
For some departing sister's soul .' 

Say, what may this portend } ' 
Then first the Palmer silence broke. — 



92 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The livelong day he had not spoke, 
'The death of a dear friend.' 



Marmion, whose steady heart and eye 
Ne'er changed in worst extremity, 
Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook 
Even from his king a haughty look, 
Whose accent of command controlled 
In camps the boldest of the bold — 
Thought, look, and utterance failed him 

now. 
Fallen was his glance and flushed his brow : 
For either in the tone. 



Its fugitive the Church he gave, 

Though not a victim, but a slave, 

And deemed restraint in convent strange 

Would hide her wrongs and her revenge. 

Himself, proud Henry's favorite peer. 

Held Romish thunders idle fear; 

Secure his pardon he might hold 

For some slight mulct of penance-gold. 

Thus judging, he gave secret way 

When the stern priests surprised their prey- 

His train but deemed the favorite page 

Was left behind to spare his age ; 

Or other if they deemed, none dared 

To mutter what he thought and heard : 




Or something in the Palmer's look, 
So full upon his conscience strook 

That answer he found none. 
Thus oft it haps that when within 
They shrink at sense of secret sin, 

A feather daunts the Ijrave ; 
A fool's wild speech confounds the wise. 
And proudest princes vail their eyes 

Before their meanest slave. 



Well might he falter ! — By his aid 
Was Constance Beverley betrayed. 
Not that he augured of the doom 
Which on the living closed the tomb: 
But, tired to hear the desperate maid 
Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid, 
And wroth because in wild despair 
She practised on the life of Clare, 



Woe to the vassal who durst pry 
Into Lord Marmion's privacy ! 

XVI. 

His conscience slept — he deemed her well. 
And safe secured in distant cell : 
But, wakened by her favorite lay, 
And that strange Palmer's boding say 
That fell so ominous and drear 
Full on the object of his fear. 
To aid remorse's venomed throes. 
Dark tales of convent-vengeance rose : 
And Constance, late betrayed and scorned. 
All lovely on his soul returned ; 
Lovely as when at treacherous call 
She left her convent's peaceful wall. 
Crimsoned with shame, with terror mute. 
Dreading alike escape, pursuit, 
Till love, victorious o'er alarms. 
Hid fears and blushes in his arms. 



M ARM I ON. 



93 




' Alas ! ' he thought, ' how changed that mien ! 

How changed these timid looks have been, 

Since years of guilt and of disguise 

Have steeled her brow and armed her eyes ! 

No more of virgin terror speaks 

The blood that mantles in her cheeks; 

Fierce and unfeminine are there, 

Frenzy for joy, for grief despair ; 

And I the cause — for whom were given 

Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven ! — 

Would,' thought he, as the picture grows, 

' I on its stalk had left the rose ! 

Oh, why should man's success remove 

The very charms that wake his love? — 

Her convent's peaceful solitude 

Is now a prison harsh and rude ; 

And, pent within the narrow cell. 

How will her spirit chafe and swell ! 

How brook the stern monastic laws ! 

The penance how — and I the cause ! — 

Vigil and scourge — perchance even worse ! ' 

And twice he rose to cry, ' To horse ! ' 

And twice his sovereign's mandate came. 

Like damp upon a kindling flame ; 

And twice he thought, 'Gave I not charge 



She should be safe, though not at large .' 
They durst not, for their island, shred 
One golden ringlet from her head.' . 



While thus in Marmion's bosom strove 

Repentance and reviving love. 

Like whirlwinds whose contending sway 

I 've seen Loch Vennachar obey. 

Their host the Palmer's speech had heard. 

And talkative took up the word: 

' Ay, reverend pilgrim, you who stray 

From Scotland's simple land away. 
To visit realms afar. 

Full often learn the art to know 

Of future weal or future woe. 
By word, or sign, or star ; 
Yet might a knight his fortune hear, 
If, knight-like, he despises fear. 
Not far from hence ; — if fathers old 
Aright our hamlet legend told.' 
These broken words the menials move, — 
For marvels still the vulgar love, — 
And, Marmion giving license cold. 
His tale the host thus gladly told : — 



94 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



VL'qt p?ost's (ICalc. 

' A clerk could tell what years have flown 

Since Alexander filled our throne, — 

Third monarch of that warlike name, — 

And eke the time when here he came 

To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord: 

A braver never drew a sword ; 

A wiser never, at the hour 

Of midnight, spoke the word of power ; 

The same whom ancient records call 

The founder of the Goblin-Hall. 

I would. Sir Knight, your longer stay 

Gave you that cavern to survey. 

Of lofty roof and ample size. 

Beneath the castle deep it lies : 

To hew the living rock profound. 

The floor to pave, the arch to round. 

There never toiled a mortal arm. 

It all was wrought by word and charm 

And I have heard my grandsire say 

That the wild clamor and affray 

Of those dread artisans of hel-1, 

Who labored under Hugo's spell, 

Sounded as loud as ocean's war 

Amono: the caverns of Dunbar. 



' The king Lord Clifford's castle sought, 
Deep laboring with uncertain thought. 
Even then he mustered all his host. 
To meet upon the western coast ; 
For Norse and Danish galleys plied 
Their oars within the Firth of Clyde. 
There floated Haco's banner trim 
Above Norweyan warriors grim, 
Savage of heart and large of limb, 
Threatening both «ontinent and isle, 
Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle. 
Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground. 
Heard Alexander's bugle sound, 
And tarried not his garb to change. 
But, in his wizard habit strange. 
Came forth, — a cjuaint and fearful sight : 
His mantle lined with fox-skins white ; 
His high and wrinkled forehead bore 
A pointed cap, such as of yore 
Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore ; 
His shoes were marked with cross and spell. 
Upon his breast a pentacle ; 
His zone of virgin parchment thin. 
Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin, 
Bore many a planetary sign, 
Combust, and retrograde, and trine ; 
And in his hand he held prepared 
A naked sword without a «:uard. 



' Dire dealings with the fiendish race 
Had marked strange lines upon his face ; 



Vigil and fast had worn him grim, 
His eyesight dazzled seemed and dim. 
As one unused to upper day ; 
Even his own menials with dismay 
Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly sire- 
In this unwonted wild attire; 
Unwonted, for traditions run 
He seldom thus beheld the sun. 
" I know," he said, — his voice was hoarse, 
And broken seemed its hollow force. — 
" I know the cause, although untold. 
Why the king seeks his vassal's hold : 
Vainly from me my liege would know 
His kingdom's future weal or woe ; 
But yet, if strong his arm and heart. 
His courage may do more than art. 



' " Of middle air the demons proud, 

Who ride upon the racking cloud. 

Can read in fixed or wandering star 

The issue of events afar. 

But still their sullen aid withhold, 

Save when by mightier force controlled. 

Such late I summoned to my hall ; 

And though so potent was the call 

That scarce the deepest nook of hell 

I deemed a refuge from the spell. 

Yet, obstinate in silence still. 

The haughty demon mocks my skill. 

But thou, — who little know'st thy might 

As born upon that blessed night 

When yawning graves and dying groan 

Proclaimed hell's empire overthrown, — 

With untaught valor shalt compel 

Response denied to magic spell." 

" Gramercy," quoth our monarch free, 

" Place him but front to front with me. 

And, by this good and honored brand. 

The gift of Cceur-de-Lion's hand, 

Soothly I swear that, tide what tide. 

The demon shall a buffet bide." 

His bearing bold the wizard viewed, 

And thus, well pleased, his speech renewed ; 

" There spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — 

mark : 
Forth pacing hence at midnight dark. 
The rampart seek whose circling crown 
Crests the ascent of yonder down : 
A southern entrance shalt thou find ; 
There halt, and there thy bugle wind, 
And trust thine elfin foe to see 
In guise of thy worst enemy. 
Couch then thy lance and spur thy steed — 
Upon him ! and Saint George to speed ! 
If he go down, thou soon shalt know 
Whate'er these airy sprites can show ; 
If thy heart fail thee in the strife, 
I am no warrant for thy life.'' 



MARMION. 



95 




' Soon as the midnight bell did ring, 
Alone and armed, forth rode the king 
To that old camp's deserted round. 
Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound 



Left hand the town, — the Pictish race 
The trench, long since, in blood did trace 
The moor around is brown and bare, 
The space within is green and fair. 
The spot our village children know, 



96 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



For there the earliest wild-flowers grow : 
But woe betide the wandering wight 
That treads its circle in the night ! 
The breadth across, a bowshot clear, 
Gives ample space for full career ; 
Opposed to the four points of heaven, 
By four deep gaps are entrance given. 
The southernmost our monarch passed. 
Halted, and blew a gallant blast ; 
And on the north, within the ri*ig. 
Appeared the form of England's king. 
Who then, a thousand leagues afar, 
In Palestine waged holy war : 
Yet arms like England's did he wield ; 
Alike the leopards in the shield. 
Alike his Syrian courser's frame. 
The rider'slength of limb the same. 
Long afterwards did Scotland know 
Fell Edward was her deadliest foe. 



* The vision made our monarch start. 
But soon he manned his noble heart, 
And in the first career they ran. 
The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man 
Yet did a spliirter of his lance 
Through Alexander's visor glance, 
And razed the skin — a puny wound. 
The king, light leaping to the ground. 
With naked blade his phantom foe 
Compelled the future war to show. 
Of Largs he saw the glorious plain, 
Where still gigantic bones remain. 

Memorial of the Danish war ; 
Himself he saw, amid the field, 
On high his brandished war-axe wield 

And strike proud Haco from his car. 
While all around the shadowy kings 
Denmark's grim ravens cowered their 
wings. 
'T is said that in that awful night 
Remoter visions met his sight. 
Foreshowing future conquest far. 
When our sons' sons wage Northern war ; 
A royal city, tower and spire. 
Reddened the midnight sky with fire. 
And shouting crews her navy bore 
Triumphant "to the victor shore. 
Such signs may learned clerks explain, 
They pass the wit of simple swain. 



'The joyful king turned home again. 
Headed his host, and quelled the Dane : 
But yearly, when returned the night 
Of his strange combat with the sprite. 

His wound must bleed and smart ; 
Lord Gifford then would gibing say, 
" Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay 

The penance of your start." 



Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave. 
King Alexander fills his grave, 

Our Lady give him rest ! 
Yet still the knightly spear and shield 
The Elfin Warrior doth wield 

LIpon the brown hill's breast. 
And many a knight hath proved his chance 
In the charmed ring to break a lance. 

But all have foully sped ; 
Save two, as legends tell, and they 
Were Wallace wight and Gilbert Hay. — 

Gentles, my tale is said.' 



The quaighs were deep, the liquor strong, 
And on the tale the yeoman-throng 
Had made a comment sage and long. 

But Marmion gave a sign : 
And with their lord the squires retire, 
The rest around the hostel fire 

Their drowsy limbs recline ; 
For pillow, underneath each head, 
The quiver and the targe were laid. 
Deep slumbering on the hostel floor. 
Oppressed with toil and ale, they snore ; 
The dying flame, in fitful change. 
Threw on the group its shadows strange. 



Apart, and nestling in the hay 
Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay ; 
Scarce by the pale moonlight were seen 
The foldings of his mantle green : 
Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream, 
Of sport by thicket, or by stream, 
Of hawk or hound, or ring or glove. 
Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 
A cautious tread his slumber broke. 
And, close beside him when he woke, 
In moonbeam half, and half in gloom, 
Stood a tall form with nodding plume ; 
But, ere his dagger Eustace drew. 
His master Marmion's voice he knew: 

XXVIII. 

' Fitz-Eustace ! rise, — I cannot rest : 
Yon churl's wild legend haunts my breast, 
And graver thoughts have chafed my mood ; 
The air must cool my feverish blood. 
And fain would I ride forth to see 
The scene of elfin chivalry. 
Arise, and saddle me my steed ; 
And, gentle Eustace, take good heed 
Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves ; 
I would not that the prating knaves 
Had cause for saying, o'er their ale, 
That I could credit such a tale.' 
Then softly down the steps they slid, 
Eustace the stable door undid, 



MARMION. 



97 



And, darkling, Marmion's steed arrayed, 
While, whispering, thus the baron said: — 

XXIX. 

' Didst never, good my youth, hear tell 

That on the hour when I was born 
Saint George, who graced my sire's chapelle, 
Down from his steed of marble fell, 

A weary wight forlorn ? 
The flattering chaplains all agree 
The champion left his steed to me. 
I would, the omen's truth to show, 
That I could meet this elfin foe ! 
Blithe would I battle for the right 
To ask one question at the sprite. — 
Vain thought ! for elves, if elves there be, 
An empty race, by fount or sea 
To dashing waters dance and sing. 
Or round the green oak wheel their ring.' 
Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode, 
And from the hostel slowly rode. 



Fitz-Eustace followed him abroad, 
And marked him pace the village road, 

And listened to his horse's tramp. 
Till, by the lessening sound, 

He judged that of the Pictish camp 
Lord Marmion sought the round. 
Wonder it seemed, in the squire's eyes. 
That one, so wary held and wise, — 
Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received 
For gospel what the Church believed, — 

Should, stirred by idle tale, 
Ride forth in silence of the night, 



As hoping half to meet a sprite, 

Arrayed in plate and mail. 
For little did Fitz-Eustace know 
That passions in contending flow 

Unfix the strongest mind ; 
Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee. 
We welcome fond credulity, 
Guide confident, though blind. 



Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared, 
But patient waited till he heard 
At distance, pricked to utmost speed. 
The foot-tramp of a flying steed 

Come townward rushing on ; 
First, dead, as if on turf it trode. 
Then, clattering on the village road, — 
In other pace than forth he yode. 

Returned Lord Marmion. 
Down hastily he sprung from selle. 
And in his haste wellnigh he fell ; 
To the squire's hand the rein he threw, 
And spoke no word as Jie withdrew : 
But yet the moonlight did betray 
The falcon-crest was soiled with clay ; 
And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see. 
By stains upon the charger's knee 
And his left side, that on the moor 
He had not kept his footing sure. 
Long musing on these wondrous signs. 
At length to rest the squire reclines, 
Broken and short ; for still between 
Would dreams of terror intervene : 
Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark 
The first notes of the morning lark. 




98 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



illarmion. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH. 
To JAMES SKENE, ESQ. 

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. 

An ancient Minstrel sagely said, 

' Where is the life which late we led ? ' 

That motley clown in Arden wood, 

Whom humorous Jaques with envy viewed, 

Not even that clown could amplify 

On this trite text so long as I. 

Eleven years we now may tell 

Since we have known each other well, 

Since, riding side by side, our hand 

First drew the voluntary brand ; 

And sure, through many a varied scene, 

Unkindness never came between. 

Away these winged years have flown, 

To join the mass of ages gone ; 

And though deep marked, like all below. 

With checkered shades of joy and woe, 

Though thou o"er realms and seas hast 

ranged. 
Marked cities lost and empires changed, 
While here at home my narrower ken 
Somewhat of manners saw and men ; 
Though varying wishes, hopes, and fears 
Fevered the progress of these years. 
Yet now, days, weeks, and months but seem 
The recollection of a dream, 
So still we glide down to the sea 
Of fathomless eternity. 

Even now it scarcely seems a day 
Since first I tuned this idle lay ; 
A task so often thrown aside, 
When leisure graver cares denied, 
That now November's dreary gale. 
Whose voice inspired my opening tale. 
That same November gale once more 
Whirls the dry leaves on Yarrow shore. 
Their vexed boughs streaming to the sky. 
Once more our naked birches sigh. 
And Blackhouse heights and Ettrick Pen 
Have donned their wintry shrouds again, 



And mountain dark and flooded mead 
Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed. 
Earlier than wont along the sky. 
Mixed with the rack, the snow mists 

- fly; 

The shepherd who, in summer sun, 

Had something of our envy won, 

As thou with pencil, I with pen. 

The features traced of hill and glen, — 

He who, outstretched the livejong clay. 

At ease among the heath-flowers lay. 

Viewed the light clouds with vacant look, 

Or slumbered o'er his tattered book. 

Or idly busied him to guide 

His angle o'er the lessened tide, — • 

At midnight now the snowy plain 

Finds sterner labor for the swain. 



When red hath set the beamless sun 
Through heavy vapors dank and dun. 
When the tired ploughman, dry and warm, 
Hears, half asleep, the rising storm 
Hurling the hail and sleeted rain 
Against the casement's tinkling pane ; 
The sounds that drive wild deer and fox 
To shelter in the brake and rocks 
Are warnings which the shepherd ask 
To dismal and to dangerous task. 
Oft he looks forth, 'and hopes, in vain, 
The blast may sink in mellowing rain ; 
Till, dark above and white below, 
Decided drives the flaky snow. 
And forth the hardy swain must go. 
Long, with dejected look and whine. 
To leave the hearth his dogs repine ; 
Whistling and cheering them to aid, 
Around his back he wreathes the plaid : 
His flock he gathers and he guides 
To open downs and mountain-sides. 
Where fiercest though the tempest blow, 
Least deeply lies the drift below. 
The blast that whistles o'er the fells 
Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 
Oft he looks back while, streaming far. 
His cottage window seems a star, — 
Loses its feeble gleam, — and then 
Turns patient to the blast again, 
And, facing to the tempest's sweep, 
Drives through the gloom his lagging 

sheep. 
If fails his heart, if his limbs fail, 
Benumbing death is in the gale ; 
His paths, his landmarks, all unknown, 
Close to the hut, no more his own. 
Close to the aid he sought in vain, 
The morn may find the stiffened swain : 
The widow sees, at dawning pale. 
His orphans raise their feeble wail; 
And, close beside him in the snow. 
Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe, 



MARMION. 



99 



Couches upon his master's breast, 
And licks his cheek to break his rest. 

Who envies now the shepherd's lot, 
His healthy fare, his rural cot, 
His summer couch by greenwood tree. 
His rustic kirn's loud revelry, 
His native hill-notes tuned on high 
To Marion of the blithesome eye. 
His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed, 
And all Arcadia's golden creed ? 

Changes not so with us, my Skene, 
Of human life the varying scene ? 
Our youthful summer oft we see 
Dance by on wings of game and glee. 
While the dark storm reserves its rage 
Against the winter of our age ; 
As he, the ancient chief of Troy, 
His manhood spent in peace and joy. 
But Grecian fires and loud alarms 
Called ancient Priam forth to arms. 
Then happy those, since each must drain 
His share of pleasure, share of pain, — 
Then happy those, beloved of Heaven, 
To whom the mingled cup is given ; 
Whose lenient sorrows find relief. 
Whose joys are chastened by their grief. 
And such a lot, my Skene, was thine. 
When thou of late wert doomed to twine - 
Just when thy bridal hour was by — 
The cypress with the myrtle tie. 
Just on thy bride her sire had smiled. 
And blessed the union of his child. 
When love must change its joyous cheer. 
And wipe affection's filial tear. 
Nor did the actions next his end 
Speak more the father than the friend : 
Scarce had lamented Forbes paid 
The tribute to his minstrel's shade. 
The tale of friendship scarce was told. 
Ere the narrator's heart was cold — 
Far may we search before we find 
A heart so manly and so kind ! 
But not around his honored urn 
Shall friends alone and kindred mourn ; 
The thousand eyes his care had dried 
Pour at his name a bitter tide. 
And frequent falls the grateful dew 
For benefits the world ne'er knew. 
If mortal charity dare claim 
The Almighty's attributed name, 
Inscribe above his mouldering clay, 
' The widow's shield, the orphan's stay.' 
Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, deem 
My verse intrudes on this sad theme, 
For sacred was the pen that wrote, 
' Thy father's friend forget thou not ; ' 
And grateful title may I plead. 
For many a kindly word and deed, 



To bring my tribute to hi: 
'Tis little — but 'tis all I 



s grave 
have. 



To thee, perchance, this rambling strain 
Recalls our summer walks again ; 
When, doing nought, — and, to speak true. 
Not anxious to find aught to do, — 
The wild unbounded hills we ranged. 
While oft our talk its topic changed. 
And, desultory as our way, 
Ranged unconfined from grave to gay. 
Even when it flagged, as oft will chance, 
No effort made to break its trance. 
We could right pleasantly pursue 
Our sports in social silence too ; 
Thou gravely laboring to portray 
The blighted oak's fantastic spray, 
I spelling o'er with much delight 
The legend of that antique knight, 
Tirante by name, ycleped the White. 
At cither's feet a trusty squire, 
Pandour and Camp, with eyes of fire, 
Jealous each other's motions viewed. 
And scarce suppressed their ancient feud. 
The laverock whistled from the cloud ; 
The stream was lively, but not loud ; 
From the white thorn the May-flower shed 
Its dewy fragrance round our head : 
Not Ariel lived more merrily 
Under the blossomed bough than we. 

And blithesome nights, too, have been 
ours. 
When Winter stript the Summer's bowers. 
Careless we heard, what now I hear, 
The wild blast sighing deep and drear. 
When fires were bright and lamps beamed 

gay, 

And ladies tuned the lovely lay. 
And he was held a laggard soul 
Who shunned to quaff the sparkling bowl. 
Then he whose absence we deplore, 
Who breathes the gales of Devon's shore. 
The longer missed, bewailed the more, 
And thou, and I, and dear-loved Rae, 
And one whose name I may not say, — 
For not mimosa's tender tree 
Shrinks sooner from the touch than he, — 
In merry chorus well combined. 
With laughter drowned the whistling wind. 
Mirth was within, and Care without 
Might gnaw her nails to hear our shout. 
Not but amid the buxom scene 
Some grave discourse might intervene — 
Of the good hoi'se that bore him best. 
His shoulder, hoof, and arching crest; 
For, like mad Tom's, our chiefest care 
Was horse to ride and weapon wear. 
Such nights we 've had ; and, though the 
same 



lOO 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Of manhood be more sober tame, 
And though the field-day or the drill 
Seem less important now, yet still 
Such may we hope to share again. 
The sprightly thought inspires my strain ! 
And mark how, like a horseman true, 
Lord Marmion's march I thus renew. 




illttrinion. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



THE CAMP 



Eustace, I said, did blithely mark 
The first notes of the merry lark. 
The lark sang shrill, the cock he crew, 
And loudly Marmion's bugles blew, 
And with their light and lively call 
Brought groom and yeoman to the stall. 
Whistling they came and free of heart, 

But soon their mood was changed ; 
Complaint was heard on every part 
Of something disarranged. 
Some clamored loud for armor lost ; 
Some brawled and wrangled with the host ; 
' By Becket's bones,' cried one, ' I fear 
That some false Scot has stolen my spear ! " 
Young Blount, Lord Marmion's second 

squire, 
Found his steed wet with sweat and mire. 
Although the rated horseboy sware 
Last night he dressed him sleek and fair. 
While chafed the impatient squire like 

thunder. 
Old Hubert shouts in fear and wonder, — 
' Help, gentle Blount ! help, comrades all ! 
Bevis lies dying in his stall ; 
To Marmion who the plight dare tell 
Of the good steed he loves so well?" 
Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw 
The charger panting on his straw ; 
Till one, who would seem wisest, cried. 
' What else but evil could betide. 
With that cursed Palmer for our guide .' 



Better we had through mire and bush 
Been lantern-led by Friar Rush." 



Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but guessed. 

Nor wholly understood, 
His comrades' clamorous plaints sup- 
pressed ; 

He knew Lord Marmion's mood. 
Him, ere he issued forth, he sought, 
And found deep plunged in gloomy thought, 

And did his tale display 
Simply, as if he knew of nought 

To cause such disarray. 
Lord Marmion gave attention cold, 
Nor marvelled at the wonders told, — 
Passed them as accidents of course. 
And bade his clarions sound to horse. 



Young Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost 
Had reckoned with their Scottish host; 
And, as the charge he cast and paid, 
' 111 thou deserv'st thy hire,' he said ; 
' Dost see, thou knave, my horse's plight ? 
Fairies have ridden him all the night, 

And left him in a foam ! 
I trust that soon a conjuring band, 
With English cross and blazing brand, 
Shall drive the devils from this land 

To their infernal home ; 
P'or in this haunted den, I trow. 
All niglit they trampled to and fro.' 
The laughing host looked on the hire : 
' Gramercy, gentle southern squire, 
And if thou com'st among the rest, 
With Scottish broadsword to be blest. 
Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow, 
And short the pang to undergo.' 
Here stayed their talk, for Marmion 
Gave now the signal to set on. 
The Palmer showing forth the way, 
They journeyed all the morning-day. 



The greensward way was smooth and good. 
Through Humbie's and through Saltoun's 

wood ; 
A forest glade, which, varying still. 
Here gave a view of dale and hill. 
There narrower closed till overhead 
A vaulted screen the branches made. 
' A pleasant path,' Fitz-Eustace said ; 
' Such as where errant-knights might see 
Adventures of high chivalry, 
Might meet some damsel flying fast, 
Wih hair unbound and looks aghast ; 
And smooth and level course were here, 
In her defence to break a spear. 



M ARM ION. 



lOl 




Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells : 
And oft in such, the story tells, 
The damsel kind, from danger freed. 
Did grateful pay her champion's meed.' 
He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind. 
Perchance to show his lore designed ; 

For Eustace much had pored 
Upon a huge romantic tome, 
In the hall-window of his home, 
Imprinted at the antique dome 

Of Caxton or de Worde. 
Therefore he spoke, — but spoke in vain, 
For Marmiovi answered nought again. 



Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill. 
In notes prolonged by wood and hill, 

Were heard to echo far ; 
Each ready archer grasped his bow. 
But by the flourish soon they know 

They breathed no point of war. 
Yet cautious, as in foeman's land. 
Lord Marmion's order speeds the band 

Some opener ground to gain ; 
And scarce a furlong had they rode. 
When thinner trees receding showed 

A little woodland plain. 
Just in that advantageous glade 
The halting troop a line had made, 
As forth from the opposing shade 

Issued a gallant train. 



First came the trumpets, at whose clang 

So late the forest echoes rang; 

On prancing steeds they forward pressed, 

With scarlet mantle, azure vest ; 

Each at his trump a banner wore, 

Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore : 

Heralds and pursuivants, by name 

Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay, came, 

In painted tabards, proudly showing 

Gules, argent, or, and azure glowing. 

Attendant on a king-at-arms. 
Whose hand the armorial truncheon held 
That feudal strife had often quelled 

When wildest its alarms. 



He was a man of middle age, 

In aspect manly, grave, and sage. 

As on king's errand come ; 
But in the glances of his eye 
A penetrating, keen, and sly 

Expression found its home : 
The flash of that satiric rage 
Which, bursting on the early stage. 
Branded the vices of the age. 

And broke the keys of Rome. 
On milk-white palfrey forth he paced ; 
His cap of maintenance was graced 

With the proud heron-plume. 
From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast. 



102 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Silk housings swept the ground, 
With Scotland's arms, device, and crest. 

Embroidered round and round. 
The double tressure might you see, 

First by Achaius borne, 
The thistle and the fleur-de-lis. 

And gallant unicorn. 
So bright the king's armorial coat 
That scarce the dazzled eye could note. 
In living colors blazoned brave, 
The Lion, which his title gave; 



Their mutual greetings duly made. 

The Lion thus his message said : — 

'Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore 

Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more, 

And strictly hath forbid resort 

From England to his royal court. 

Yet, for he knows Lord JVLimion's name 

And honors much his warlike fame. 

My liege hath deemed it shame and lack 

Of courtesy to turn him back ; 

And by his order 1, your guide, 




A train, which well beseemed his state, 
But all unarmed, around him wait. 
Still is thy name in high account. 
And still thy verse has charms, 
Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, 
Lord Lion Kin£:-at-arms ! 



VIII. 

Down from his horse did Marmion spring 

Soon as he saw the Lion-King : 

For well the stately baron knew 

To him such courtesy was due 

Whom royal James himself had crowned. 

And on his temples placed the round 

Of Scotland's ancient diadem, 
And wet his brow with hallowed wine, 
And on his finger given to shine 

The emblematic gem. 



Must lodging fit and fair provide 

Till finds King James meet time to see 

The flower of English chivalry.' 



Though inly chafed at this delay. 
Lord Marmion bears it as he may. 
The Palmer, his mysterious guide. 
Beholding thus his place supplied. 

Sought to take leave in vain ; 
Strict was the Lion-King's command 
That none who rode in Marmion's band 

Should sever from the train. 
' England has here enow of spies 
In Lady Heron's witching eyes : ' 
To Marchmount thus apart he said, 
But fair pretext to Marmion made. 
The right-hand path they now decline. 
And trace against the stream the Tyne. 



M ARM ION. 



103 



^Vl. 





At length up that wild dale they wind, 
Where Crichtoun Castle crowns the bank : 

For there the Lion's care assigned 
A lodging meet for Marmion's rank. 



That castle rises on the steep 
Of the green vale of T5-ne ; 
And far beneath, where slow they creep 
From pool to eddy, dark and deep. 
Where alders moist and willows weep. 



I04 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



You hear her streams repine. 
The towers in different ages rose, 
Their various architecture shows 

The builders' various hands ; 
A mighty mass, that could oppose, 
When deadliest hatred fired its foes, 

The vengeful Douglas bands. 



Crichtoun ! though now thy miry court 

But pens the lazy steer and sheep, 

Thy turrets rude and tottered keep 
Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 
Oft have I traced, within thy fort, 

Of mouldering shields the mystic sense. 

Scutcheons of honor or pretence. 
Quartered in old armorial sort. 

Remains of rude magnificence. 
Nor wholly yet hath time defaced 

Thy lordly gallery fair. 
Nor yet the stony cord unbraced 
Whose twisted knots, with roses laced, 

Adorn thy ruined stair. 
Still rises unimpaired below 
The court-yard's graceful portico : 
Above its cornice, row and row 
Of fair hewn facets richly show 

Their pointed diamond form. 
Though there but houseless cattle go, 

To shield them from the storm. 
And, shuddering, still may we explore. 

Where oft whilom were captives pent, 
The darkness of thy Massy More, 

Or, from thy grass-grown battlement. 
May trace in undulating line 
The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 



Another aspect Crichtoun showed 

As through its portal Marmion rode ; 

But yet 't was melancholy state 

Received him at the outer gate. 

For none were in the castle then 

But women, boys, or aged men. 

With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame 

To welcome noble Marmion came ; 

Her son, a stripling" twelve years old. 

Proffered the baron's rein to hold ; 

For each man that could draw a sword 

Had marched that morning with their lord, 

Earl Adam Hepburn, — he who died 

On Flodden by his sovereign's side. 

Long may his lady look in vain ! 

She ne'er shall see his gallant train 

Come sweeping back through Crichtoun- 

Dean. 
'T was a brave race before the name 
Of hated Bothwell stained their fame. 



And here two days did Marmion rest. 
With every right that honor claims, 
Attended as the king's own guest ; — 
Such the command of Royal James. 
Who marshalled then his land's array. 
Upon the Borough-moor that lay. 
Perchance he would not foeman's eye 
Upon his gathering host should pry. 
Till full prepared was every band 
To march against the English land. 
Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit 
Oft cheer the baron's moodier fit ; 
And, in his turn, he knew to prize 
Lord Marmion"s powerful mind and wise, — 
Trained in the lore of Rome and Greece, 
And policies of war and peace. 



It chanced, as fell the second night, 

That on the battlements they walked, 
And by the slowly fading light 

Of varying topics talked ; 
And, unaware, the herald-bard 
Said Marmion might his toil have spared 

In travelling so far. 
For that a messenger from heaven 
In vain to James had counsel given 

Against the English war; 
And, closer questioned, thus he told 
A tale which chronicles of old 
In Scottish story have enrolled : — 



Siix IBabtti ILmtiesag's f'alr. 

' Of all the palaces so fair. 

Built for the royal dweUing 
In Scotland, far beyond compare 

Linlithgow is excelling ; 
And in its park, in jovial June, 
How sweet the merry linnet's tune. 

How blithe the blackbird's lay ! 
The wild buck bells from ferny brake, 
The coot dives merry on the lake. 
The saddest heart might pleasure take 

To see all nature gay. 
But June is to our sovereign dear 
The heaviest month in all the year: 
Too well his cause of grief you know, 
June saw his father's overthrow. 
Woe to the traitors who could bring 
The princely boy against his king! 
Still in his conscience burns the sting. 
In offices as strict as Lent 
King James's June is ever spent. 



' When last this ruthful month was come, 
And in Linlithgow's holy dome 



xM ARM ION. 



105 




The king, as wont, was praying; 
While for his royal father's soul 
The chanters sung, the bells did toll, 

The bishop mass was saying — 
For now the year brought round again 
The day the luckless king was slain — 
In Catherine's aisle the monarch knelt, 
With sackcloth shirt and iron belt. 

And eyes with sorrow streaming; 
Around him in their stalls of state 
The Thistle's Knight-Companions sate, 

Their banners o'er them beaming. 
I too was there, and, sooth to tell, 
Bedeafened with the jangling knell, 
Was watching where the sunbeams tell, 

Through the stained casement gleam- 
ing; 
But while I marked what next befell 

It seemed as I were dreaming. 
Stepped from the crowd a ghostly wight, 
In azure gown, with cincture white ; 
His forehead bald, his head was bare, 
Down hung at length his yellow hair. — 
Now, mock me not when, good my lord, 
I pledge to you my knightly word 
That when I saw his placid grace. 
His simple majesty of face, 
His solemn bearing, and his pace 

So stately gliding on, — 
Seemed to me ne'er did limner paint 
So just an image of the saint 
Who propped the Virgin in her faint. 

The loved Apostle John ! 



' He stepped before the monarch's chair, 
And stood with rustic plainness there. 

And little reverence made ; 
Nor head, nor body, bowed, nor bent, 
But on the desk his arm he leant, 

And words like these he said, 
In a low voice, — but never tone 
So thrilled through' vein, and nerve, and 

bone : — 
" My mother sent me from afar, 
Sir King, to warn thee not to war, — 

Woe waits on thine array ; 
If war thou wilt, of woman fair. 
Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 
James Stuart, doubly warned, beware : 

God keep thee as he may ! " — - 
The wondering monarch seemed to seek 

For answer, and found none ; 
And when he raised his head to speak. 

The monitor was gone. 
The marshal and myself had cast 
To stop him as he outward passed; 
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast, 

He vanished from our eyes. 
Like sunbeam on the billow cast, 

That glances but, and dies.' 

XVIII. 

While Lindesay told his marvel strange 

The twilight was so pale, 
He marked not Marmion's color change 



io6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



While listening to the tale; 
But, after a suspended pause, 
The baron spoke : ' Of Nature's laws 

So strong I held the force, 
That never superhuman cause 

Could e'er control their course. 
And, three days since, had judged your aim 
Was but to make your guest your game ; 
But I have seen, since past the Tweed, 
What much has changed my sceptic creed, 
And made me credit aught.' — He stayed. 
And seemed to wish his words unsaid, 
But, by that strong emotion pressed 
Which prompts us to unload our breast 

Even when discovery 's pain. 
To Lindesay did at length unfold 
The tale his village host had told, 

At Gifford, to his train. 
Nought of the Palmer says he there, 
And nought of Constance or of Clare ; 
The thoughts which broke his sleep he 

seems 
To mention but as feverish dreams. 



' In vain,' said he, ' to rest I spread 

My burning limbs, and couched my head : 

Fantastic thoughts returned, 
And, by their wild dominion led. 

My heart within me burned. 
So sore was the delirious goad, 
I took my steed and forth I rode. 
And, as the moon shone bright and cold, 
Soon readied the camp upon the wold. 
The southern entrance I passed through. 
And halted, and my bugle blew. 
Methought an answer met my ear, — 
Yet was the blast so low and drear, 
So hollow, and so faintly blown. 
It might be echo of my own. 



' Thus judging, for a little space 
I listened ere I left the place, 

But scarce could trust my eyes. 
Nor yet can think they serve me true, 
When sudden in the ring I view, 
In form distinct of shape and hue, 

A mounted champion rise. — 
I 've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day, 
In single fight and mixed affray. 
And ever, 1 myself may say. 

Have borne me as a knight; 
But when this unexpected foe 
Seemed starting from the gulf below, - 
I care not though the truth I show, — 

I trembled with affright ; 
And as I placed in rest my spear, 
My hand so shook for very fear, 

I scarce could couch it ri<rht. 



'Why need my tongue the issue tell? 
We ran our course, — my charger fell ; — 
What could he 'gainst the shock of hell ? 

I rolled upon the plain. 
High o'er my head with threatening hand 
The spectre shook his naked brand, — 

Yet did the worst remain : 
My dazzled eyes I upward cast, — 
Not opening hell itself could blast 

Their sight like what I saw ! 
Full on his face the moonbeam strook ! — 
A face could never be mistook ! 
I knew the stern vindictive look, 

And held my breath for awe. 
I saw the face of one who, fled 
To foreign climes, has long been dead, — 

I well believe the last ; 
For ne'er from visor raised did stare 
A human warrior with a glare 

So grimly and so ghast. 
Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade ; 
But when to good Saint George I prayed,— 
The first time e'er I asked his aid, ■ — 

He plunged it in the sheath. 
And, on his courser mounting light, 
He seemed to vanish from my sight : ^ 

The moonbeam drooped, and deepest night 

Sunk down upon the heath. — 
"T were long to tell what cause I have 

To know his face that met me there, 
Called by his hatred from the grave 

To cumber upper air; 
Dead or alive, good cause had he 
To be my mortal enemy.' 



Marvelled Sir David of the Mount; 
Then, learned in story, gan recount 

Such chance had happed of old. 
When once, near Norham, there did fight 
A spectre fell of fiendish might, 
In likeness of a Scottish knight. 

With Brian Bulmer bold, 
And trained him nigh to disallow \ I 

The aid of his baptismal vow. ' 

' And such a phantom, too, 't is said, 
With Highland broadsword, targe, and 
plaid. 

And fingers red with gore. 
Is seen in Rothiemurcus glade, 
Or where the sable pine-trees shade 
Dark Tomantoul, and Auchnaslaid, 

Dromouchty, or Glenmore. 
And yet, whate'er such legends say 
Of w-arlike demon, ghost, or fay. 

On mountain, moor, or plain, 
Spotless in faith, in bosom bold, 
True son of chivalry should hold 

These midnight terrors vain ; 



I 



M ARM ION. 



107 




For seldom have such spirits power 
To harm, save in the evil hour 
When guilt we meditate within 
Or harbor unrepented sin.' — 
Lord Marmion turned him half aside, 



And twice to clear his voice he tried. 

Then pressed Sir David's hand, — 
But nought, at length, in answer said : 
And here their further converse stayed, 

Each ordering that his band 



io8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Should bowne them with the rising day, 
To Scotland's camp to take their way, — 
Such was the king's command. 



Early they took Dun-Edin's road, 
And I could trace each step they trode ; 
Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone, 
Lies on the path to me unknown. 
Much might it boast of storied lore ; 
But, passing such digression o'er. 
Suffice it that their route was laid 



Now, frqm the summit to the plain, 
Waves all the hill with yellow grain ; 

And o'er the landscape as I look. 
Nought do I see unchanged remain, 

Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook. 
To me they make a heavy moan 
Of early friendships past and gone. 

XXV. 

But different far the change has been, 

Since Marmion from the crown 
Of Blackford saw that martial scene 







Across the furzy hills of Braid. 
They passed the glen and scanty rill, 
And climbed the opposing bank, until 
They gained the top of Blackford Hill. 

XXIV. 
Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast, 

Among the broom and thorn and whin, 
A truant-boy, I sought the nest. 
Or listed, as I lay at rest. 

While rose on breezes thin 
The murmur of the city crowd. 
And, from his steeple jangling loud, 

Saint Giles's min";lin<r din. 



Upon the bent so brown : 
Thousand pavilions, white as snow. 
Spread all the Borough-moor below. 

Upland, and dale, and down. 
A thousand did I say ? I ween, 
Thousands on thousands there were seen, 
That checkered all the heath between 

The streamlet and the town. 
In crossing ranks extending far, 
Forming a camp irregular ; 
Oft giving way where still there stood 
Some relics of the old oak wood. 
That darkly huge did intervene 
And tamed the glaring white with green ; 



M ARM ION. 



109 




In these extended lines there lay 
A martial kingdom's vast array. 



For from Hebudes, dark with rain, 
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, 
And from the southern Redswire edge 
To furthest Rosse's rocky ledge, 
From west to east, from south to north, 
Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 
Marmion might hear the mingled hum 
Of myriads up the mountain come, — 
The horses' tramp and tinkling clank. 
Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank, 

And charger's shrilling neigh, — 
And see the shifting lines advance. 
While frequent flashed from shield and 
lance 

The sun's reflected ray. 

XXVII. 

Thin curling in the morning air. 
The wreaths of failing smoke declare 
To embers now the brands decayed, 
Where the night-watch their fires had made. 
They saw, slow rolling on the plain, 
Full many a baggage-cart and wain. 



And dire artillery's clumsy car, 

By sluggish oxen tugged to war ; 

And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven, 

And culverins which France had given. 

Ill-omened gift ! the guns remain 

The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 



Nor marked they less where in the air 
A thousand streamers flaunted fair ; 
Various in shape, device, and hue. 
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue. 
Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square, 
Scroll, pennon, pencil, bandrol, there 

O'er the pavilions flew. 
Highest and midmost, was descried 
The royal banner floating wide ; 

The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight, 
Pitched deeply in a massive stone. 
Which still in memory is shown, 
■ Yet bent beneath the standard's weight. 
Whene'er the western wind unrolled 
With toil the huge and cumbrous 
fold. 
And gave to view the dazzling field. 
Where in proud Scotland's royal shield 
The ruddy lion ramped in gold. 



no 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Lord Marmion viewed the landscape bright. 
He viewed it with a chief's delight, 

Until within him burned his heart, 

And lightning from his eye did part, 
As on the battle-day ; 

Such glance did falcon never dart 
When stooping on his prey. 
' Oh ! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said. 
Thy king from warfare to dissuade 

Were but a vain essay ; 
For, by Saint George, were that host mine. 
Not power infernal nor divine 
Should once to peace my soul incline. 
Till I had dimmed their armor's shine 

In glorious battle-fray ! ' 
Answered the bard, of milder mood : 
' Fair is the sight, — and yet 't were good 

That kings would think withal, 
When peace and wealth their land has blessed, 
'T is better to sit still at rest 

Than rise, perchance to fall.' 



Still on the spot Lord Marmion stayed, 
For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed. 
When sated with the martial show 
That peopled all the plain below. 
The wandering eye could o'er it go. 
And mark the distant city glow 

With gloomy splendor red ; 
For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow. 
That round her sable turrets flow, 

The morning beams were shed. 
And tinged them with a lustre proud. 
Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 
Such dusky grandeur clothed the height 
Where the huge castle holds its state, 

And all the steep slope down, 
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, 
Piled deep and massy, close and high. 

Mine own romantic town ! 
But northward far, with purer blaze. 
On Ochil mountains fell the rays. 
And as each heathy top they kissed, 
It gleamed a purple amethyst. 
Yonder the shores of Fife you saw. 
Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law ; 

And, broad between them rolled, 
The gallant Firth the eye might note. 
Whose islands on its bosom float, 

Like emeralds chased in gold. 
Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent; 
As if to give his rapture vent, 
The spur he to his charger lent, 

And raised his bridle hand. 
And making demi-volt in air. 
Cried, ' Where 's the coward that would 
not dare 

To fio-ht for such a land ! 



The Lindesay smiled his joy to see. 
Nor Marmion's frown repressed his glee. 

XXXI. 

Thus while they looked, a flourish proud, 
Where mingled trump, and clarion loud. 

And fife, and kettle-drum. 
And sackbut deep, and psaltery. 
And war-pipe with discordant cry, 
And cymbal clattering to the sky, 
Making wild music bold and high, 

Did up the mountain come ; 
The whilst the bells with distant chime 
Merrily tolled the hour of prime, 

And thus the Lindesay spoke : 
' Thus clamor still the war-notes when 
The king to mass his way has ta'en, 
Or to Saint Catherine's of Sienne, 

Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. 
To you they speak of martial fame. 
But me remind of peaceful game. 

When blither was their cheer. 
Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air. 
In signal none his steed should spare. 
But strive wliich foremost might repair 

To the downfall of the deer. 



' Nor less,' he said, ' when looking forth 
I view yon Empress of the North 

Sit on her hilly throne. 
Her palace's imperial bowers. 
Her castle, proof to hostile powers. 
Her stately halls and holy towers — 

Nor less,' he said, ' I moan 
To think what woe mischance may bring. 
And how these merry bells may ring 
The death-dirge of our gallant king, 

Or with their larum call 
The burghers forth to watch and ward, 
'Gainst Southern sack and fires to guard 

Dun-Edin's leaguered wall. — 
But not for my presaging thought, 
Dream conquest sure or cheaply bought ! 

Lord Marmion, I say nay : 
God is the guider of the field, 
He breaks the champion's spear and shield ; 

But thou thyself shalt say. 
When joins yon host in deadly stowre. 
That England's dames must weep in bower. 

Her monks the death-mass sing; 
For never saw'st thou such a power 

Led on by such a king." 
And now, down winding to the plain. 
The barriers of the camp they gain. 

And there they made a stay. — 
There stays the Minstrel, till he fling 
His hand o'er every Border string. 
And fit his harp the pomp to sing 
Of Scotland's ancient court and king. 

In the succeeding lay. 



MARMION. 



I 1 1 




ilia rm ion. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH. 
To GEORGE ELLIS. ESQ. 

Edinburgh. 

When dark December glooms the day, 
And takes our-autumn joys away ; 
When short and scant the sunbeam throws 
Upon the weary waste of snows 
A cokl and profitless regard, 
Like patron on a needy bard : 
When sylvan occupation 's done, 
And o'er the chimney rests the gun. 
And hang in idle trophy near. 
The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear ; 
When wiry terrier, rough and grim. 
And greyhound, with his length of limb, 
And pointer, now employed no more. 
Cumber our parlor's narrow floor ; 
When in his stall the impatient steed 
Is long condemned to rest and feed ; 
When from our snow-encircled home 
Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam, 
Since path is none, save that to bring 
The needful water from the spring ; 
When wrinkled news- page, thrice conned 

o'er. 
Beguiles the dreary hour no more, 
And darkling politician, crossed, 
Inveighs against the lingering post. 
And answering housewife sore complains 
Of carriers' snow-impeded wains ; — 
When such the country-cheer, I come 
Well pleased to seek our city home ; 
For converse and for books to change 
The Forest's melancholy range. 
And welcome with renewed delight 
The busy day and social night. 

Not here need my desponding rhyme 
Lament the ravages of time. 
As erst by Newark's riven towers. 
And Ettrick stripped of forest bowers. 
True, Caledonia's Queen is changed 
Since on her dusky summit ranged. 



Within its steepy limits pent 
By bulwark, line, and battlement. 
And flanking towers, and laky flood, 
(Guarded ancl garrisoned she stood, 
Denying entrance or resort 
Save at each tall embattled port. 
Above whose arch, suspended, hung 
Portcullis spiked with iron prong. 
That long is gone, — but not so long 
Since, early closed and opening late. 
Jealous revolved the studded gate. 
Whose task, from eve to morning tide, 
A wicket churlishly supplied. 
Stern then and steel-girt was thy brow, 
Dun-Edin ! Oh, how altered now. 
When safe amid thy mountain court 
Thou sitt'st, like empress at her sport. 
And liberal, unconfined, and free. 
Flinging thy white arms to the sea, 
For thy dark cloud, with umbered lower. 
That hung o'er cliff and lake and tower, 
Thou gleam'st against the western ray 
Ten thousand lines of brighter day ! 

Not she, the championess of old, 
In Spenser's magic tale enrolled. 
She for the charmed spear renowned, 
Which forced each knight to kiss the 

ground, — 
Not she more changed, when, placed at rest. 
What time she was Malbecco's guest, 
She gave to flow her maiden vest; 
When, from the corselet's grasp relieved. 
Free to the sight her bosom heaved : 
Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile. 
Erst hidden by the aventayle. 
And down her shoulders graceful rolled 
Her locks profuse of paly gold. 
They who whilom in midnight fight 
Had marvelled at her matchless might, 
No less her maiden charms approved. 
But looking liked, and liking loved. 
The sight could jealous pangs beguile, 
And charm Malbecco's cares awhile; 
And he, the wandering Squire of Dames 
Forgot his Columbella's claims. 
And passion, erst unknown, could gain 
The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane ; 
Nor durst light Paridell advance. 
Bold as he was, a looser glance. 
She charmed, at once, and tamed the heart, 
Incomparable Britomart ! 

So thou, fair City ! disarrayed 
Of battled wall and rampart's aid. 
As stately seem'st, but lovelier far 
Than in that panoply of war. 
Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne 
Strength ancl security are flown ; 
Still as of yore. Queen of the North ! 



112 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Still canst thou send thy children forth. 
Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call 
Thy burghers rose to man thy wall 
Than now, in danger, shall be thine, 
Thy dauntless voluntary line ; 
For fosse and turret proud to stand, 
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land. 
Thy thousands, trained to martial toil. 
Full red would stain their native soil, 
Ere from thy mural crown there fell 
The slightest knosp or pinnacle. 
And if it come, as come it may, 
Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, 
Renowned for hospitable deed, 
That virtue much with Heaven may plead. 
In patriarchal times whose care 
Descending angels deigned to share ; 
That claim may wrestle blessings down 
On those who fight for the Good Town, 
Destined in every age to be 
Refuge of injured royalty ; 
Since first, when conquering York arose, 
To Henry meek she gave repose, 
Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe, 
Great Bourbon's relics sad she saw. 

Truce to these thoughts! — for, as they 
rise. 
How gladly I avert mine eyes, 
Bodings, or true or false, to change 
For Fiction's fair romantic range. 
Or for tradition's dubious light. 
That hovers 'twixt the day and night : 
Dazzling alternately and dim. 
Her wavering lamp I 'd rather trim. 
Knights, squires, and lovely dames to see. 
Creation of my fantasy. 
Than gaze abroad on reeky fen, 
And make of mists invading men. — 
Who loves not more the night of June 
Than dull December's gloomy noon ? 
The moonlight than the fog of frost? 
And can we say which cheats the most ? 

But who shall teach my harp to gain 
A sound of the romantic strain 
Whose Anglo-Norman tones whilere 
Could win the royal Henry's ear. 
Famed Beauclerk called, for that he loved 
The minstrel and his lay approved.'' 



Who shall these lingering notes redeem, 

Decaying on Oblivion's stream ; 

Such notes as from the Breton tongue 

Alarie translated, Blondel sung? — 

Oh !. born Time's ravage to repair. 

And make the dying Muse thy care ; 

Who. when his scythe her hoary foe 

Was poising for the final blow, 

The weapon from his hand could wring. 

And break his glass and shear his wing, 

And bid, reviving in his strain, 

The gentle poet live again ; 

Thou, who canst give to lightest lay 

An unpedantic moral gay. 

Nor less the dullest theme bid flit 

On wings of unexpected wit ; 

In letters as in life approved. 

Example honored and beloved, — 

Dear Ellis ! to the bard impart 

A lesson of thy magic art. 

To win at once the head and heart, — 

At once to charm, instruct, and mend. 

My guide, my pattei'n, and my friend ! 

Such minstrel lesson to bestow 
Be long thy pleasing task, — but, oh ! 
No more by thy example teach 
What few can practise, all can preach, — 
With even patience to endure 
Lingering disease and painful cure. 
And boast affliction's pangs subdued 
By mild and manly fortitude. 
Enough, the lesson has been given : 
Forbid the repetition, Heaven! 

Come listen, then ! for thou hast known 
And loved the Minstrel's varying tone, 
Who, like his Border sires of old, 
Waked a wild measure rude and bold. 
Till Windsor's oaks and Ascot plain 
With wonder heard the Northern strain. 
Come listen ! bold in thy applause. 
The bard shall scorn pedantic laws ; 
And, as the ancient art could stain 
Achievements on the storied pane, 
Irregularly traced and planned, 
But yet so glowing and so grand. 
So shall he .strive, in changeful hue, 
Field, feast, and combat to renew. 
And loves, and arms, and harpers' glee, 
And all the pomp of chivalry. 







M ARM I ON. 



113 




ill a r m i n. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



THE COURT. 



The train has left the hills of Braid : 
The barrier guard have open made — 
So Lindesay bade — the palisade 

That closed the tented ground : 
Their men the warders backward drew, 
And carried pikes as they rode through 

Into its ample bound. 
Fast ran the Scottish warriors there, 
Upon the Southern band to stare. 
And envy with their wonder rose, 
To see such well-appointed foes ; 
Such length of shafts, such mighty bows, 
So huge that many simply thought 
But for a vaunt such weapons wrought, 
And little deemed their force to feel 
Through links of mail and plates of steel 
When, rattling upon Flodden vale, 
The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail. 



Nor less did Marmion's skilful view 
Glance every line and squadron through, 



And much he marvelled one small land 
Could marshal forth such various band ; 

For men-at-arms were here, 
Heavily sheathed in mail and plate, 
Like iron towers for strength and weight, 
On Flemish steeds of bone and height, 

With battle-axe and spear. 
Young knights and scjuires, a lighter train, 
Practised their chargers on the plain. 
By aid of leg, of hand, and rein. 

Each warlike feat to show, 
To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain. 
And high curvet, that not in vain 
The sword-sway might descend amain 

On foeman's casque below. 
He saw the hardy burghers there 
March armed on foot with faces bare, 

For visor they wore none. 
Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight ; 
But burnished were their corselets bright. 
Their brigantines and gorgets light 

Like very silver shone. 
Long pikes they had for standing fight, 

Two-handed swords they wore. 
And many wielded mace of weight. 

And bucklers bright they bore. 



On foot the yeoman too, but dressed 
In his steel-jack, a swarthy vest. 



114 



SCO TVS POETICAL WORKS. 



With iron quilted well ; 
Each at his back — a slender store — 
His forty days' provision bore, 

As feudal statutes tell. 
His arms were halbert, axe, or spear, 
A crossbow there, a hagbut here, 

A dagger-knife, and brand. 
Sober he seemed and sad of cheer, 
As loath to leave his cottage dear 

And march to foreign strand. 
Or musing w'ho would guide his steer 

To till the fallow land. 
Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye 




Did aught of dastard terror lie ; 

More dreadful far his ire 
Than theirs who, scorning danger's name, 
In eager mood to battle came. 
Their valor like light straw on flame, 

A fierce but fading fire. 



Not so the Borderer: — bred to war, 
He knew the battle's din afar. 

And joyed to hear it swell. 
His peaceful day was slothful ease ; 
Nor harp nor pipe his ear could please 

Like the loud slogan yell. 
On active steed, with lance and blade, 
The light-armed pricker plied his trade, — 

Let nobles fight for fame ; 
Let vassals follow where they lead, 
Burghers, to guard their townships, bleed, 

But war 's the Borderers' game. 



Their gain, their glory, their delight, 
To sleep the day, maraud the night, 

O'er mountain, moss, and moor; 
Joyful to fight they took their way. 
Scarce caring who might win the day, 

Their booty was secure. 
These, as Lord Marmion's train passed by, 
Looked on at first with careless eye, 
Nor marvelled aught, well taught to know 
The form and force of English bow. 
But when they saw the lord arrayed 
In splendid arms and rich brocade. 
Each Borderer to his kinsman said, — 

' Hist, Ringan ! seest thou there ! \ 

Canst guess which road they '11 homeward 

ride ? 
Oh ! could we but on Border side. 
By Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide, 

Beset a prize so fair ! 
That fangless Lion, too, their guide. 
Might chance to lose his glistering hide ; 
Brown Maudlin of that doublet pied 

Could make a kirtle rare.' 



Next, Marmion marked the Celtic race. 
Of different language, form, and face, 

A various race of man ; 
Just then the chiefs their tribes arrayed. 
And wild and garish semblance made 
The checkered trews and belted plaid, 
And varying notes the war-pipes brayed 

To every varying clan. 
Wild through their red or sable hair 
Looked out their eyes with savage stare 

On Marmion as he passed ; 
Their legs above the knee were bare : 
Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare. 

And hardened to the blast ; 
Of taller race, the chiefs they own 
Were by the eagle's plumage known. 
The hunted red-deer's undressed hide 
Their hairy buskins well supplied ; 
The graceful bonnet decked their head: 
Back from their shoulders hung the plaid ; 
A broadsword of unwieldy length, 
A dagger proved for edge and strength, 

A studded targe they wore. 
And quivers, bows, and shafts, — but, oh ! 
Short was the shaft and weak the bow 

To that which England bore. 
The Isles-men carried at their backs 
The ancient Danish battle-axe. 
They raised a wild and wondering cry, 
As with his guide rode Marmion by. 
Loud were their clamoring tongues, as 

when 
The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen. 
And, with their cries discordant mixed, 
Crumbled and yelled the pipes betwixt. 



M ARM ION. 



115 




Thus through the Scottish camp they 

passed, 
And reached the city gate at last, 
Where all around, a wakeful guard. 
Armed burghers kept their watch and ward. 
Well had they cause of jealous fear, 
When lay encamped in field so near 
The Borderer and the Mountaineer. 
As through the bustling streets they go, 
All was alive with martial show ; 
At every turn with dinning clang 
The armorer's anvil clashed and rang, 
Or toiled the swarthy smith to wheel 
The bar that arms the charger's heel, 
Or axe or falchion to the side 
Of jarring grindstone was applied. 
Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying 

pace. 
Through street and lane and market-place, 

Bore lance or casque or sword ; 
While burghers, with important face, 

Described each new-come lord. 
Discussed his lineage, told his name. 
His following, and his warlike fame. 
The Lion led to lodging meet. 
Which high o'erlooked the crowded street ; 

There must the baron rest 
Till past the hour of vesper tide. 
And then to Holy-Rood must ride, — 

Such was the king's behest. 
Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns 
A banquet rich and costly wines 



To Marmion and his train; 
And when the appointed hour succeeds, 
The baron dons his peaceful weeds, 
And following Lindesay as he leads. 

The palace halls they gain. 



Old Holy-Rood rung merrily 
That night with, wassail, mirth, and glee : 
King James within her princely bower 
Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's power. 
Summoned to spend the parting hour ; 
For he had charged that his array 
Should southward march by break of day- 
Well loved that splendid monarch aye 

The banquet and the song, 
By day the tourney, and by night 
The merry dance, traced fast and light. 
The maskers quaint, the pageant bright. 

The revel loud and long. 
This feast outshone his banquets past ; 
It was his blithest — and his last. 
The dazzling lamps from gallery gay 
Cast on the court a dancing ray ; 
Here to the harp did minstrels sing. 
There ladies touched a softer string ; 
With long-eared cap and motley vest, 
The licensed fool retailed his jest ; 
His magic tricks the juggler plied ; 
At dice and draughts the gallants vied : 
While some, in close recess apart. 
Courted the ladies of their heart. 

Nor courted them in vain ; 



IK 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



For often in the parting hour 
Victorious Love asserts his power 

O'er coldness and disdain ; 
And flinty is her heart can view 
To battle march a lover true — 
Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, 

Nor own her share of pain. 



Through this mixed crowd of glee and game 
The king to greet Lord Marmion came, 

While, reverent, all made room. 
An easy task it was. I trow, 
King James's manly form to know, 
Although, his courtesy to show. 
He doffed to Marmion bending low 

His broidered cap and plume. 
For royal were his garb and mien : 

His cloak of crimson velvet piled, 

Trimmed with the fur of marten wild. 
His vest of changeful satin sheen. 

The dazzled eye beguiled ; 
His gorgeous collar hung adown. 
Wrought with the badge of Scotland's 

crown, 
The thistle brave of old renown ; 
His trusty blade, Toledo right. 
Descended from a baldric bright ; 
White were his buskins, on the heel 
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel ; 
His bonnet, all of crimson fair. 
Was buttoned with a ruby rare : 
And Marmion deemed he ne'er had seen 
A prince of such a noble mien. 



The monarch's form was middle size, 
For feat of strength or exercise 

Shaped in proportion fair; 
And hazel was his eagle eye, 
And auburn of the darkest dye 

His short curled beard and hair. 
Light was his footstep in the dance, 

And firm his stirrup in the lists : 
And, oh ! he had that merry glance 

That seldom lady's heart resists. 
Lightly from fair to fair he flew. 
And loved to plead, lament, and sue, — 
Suit lightly won and short-lived pain. 
For monarchs seldom sigh in vain. 

I said he joyed in banquet bower ; 
But, mid his mirth, 't was often strange 
How suddenly his cheer would change, 

His look o'ercast and lower. 
If in a sudden turn he felt 
The pressure of his iron belt. 
That bound his breast in penance pain. 
In memory of his father slain. 
Even so 't was strange how evermore. 
Soon as the passing pang was o"er, 



Forward he rushed with double glee 
Into the stream of revelry. 
Thus dim-seen object of affright 
Startles the courser in his flight. 
And half he halts, half springs aside. 
But feels the quickening spur applied, 
And, straining on the tightened rein, 
Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain. 



O'er James's heart, the courtiers say, 
Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway ; 

To Scotland's court she came 
To be a hostage for her lord, 
Who Cessford's gallant heart had gored. 
And with the king to make accord 

Had sent his lovely dame. 
Nor to that lady free alone 
Did the gay king allegiance own ; 

For the fair Queen of P^rance 
Sent him a turquoise ring and glove. 
And charged him, as her knight and love. 

For her to break a lance. 
And strike three strokes with Scottish brand, 
And march three miles on Southron land, 
And bid the banners of his band 

In English breezes dance. 
And thus for Finance's queen he drest 
His manly limbs in mailed vest. 
And thus admitted English fair 
His inmost councils still to share. 
And thus for both he madly planned 
The ruin of himself and land ! 

And yet, the sooth to tell. 
Nor England's fair nor France's queen 
Were worth one pearl-drop, bright and 
sheen. 

From Margaret's eyes that fell, — 
His own Queen Margaret, who in Lithgow's 

bower 
All lonely sat and wept the weary hour. 



The queen sits lone in Lithgow pile. 

And weeps the weary day 
The war against her native soil. 
Her monarch's risk in battle broil. — - 
And in gay Holy-Rood the while 
Dame Heron rises with a smile 

Upon the harp to play. 
Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er 

The strings her fingers flew ; 
And as she touched and tuned them all, 
Ever her bosom's rise and fall 

Was plainer given to view; 
For, all for heat, w^as laid aside 
Her wample. and her hood untied. 
And first she pitched her voice to sing. 
Then glanced her dark eye on the king. 



t\ 



MARMIOiX. 



117 




\f tw\ •' •vvmsMmmMmm!;:>!.iSX 





And then around the silent ring, 
'And laughed, and blushed, and oft did say 
Her pretty oath, by yea and nay. 
(She could not, would not, durst not play ! 



At length, upon the harp, with glee. 
Mingled'with arcl> simplicity, 
A soft yet lively air she rung. 
While thus the wily lady sung : — 



ii8 



SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. 



LOCHINVAR. 
HaBjg l^cron's Song. 

-Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out of the 

west, 
Through all the wide Border his steed was 

the best ; 
And save his good broadsword he weapons 

had none, 
He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young 

Lochinvar. 

He stayed not for brake and he stopped not 

for stone, 
He swam the Eske river where ford there 

was none ; 
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate 
The bride had consented, the gallant came 

late : 
For a laggard in love and a dastard in war 
Was towed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and broth- 
ers, and all : 

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on 
his sword, — 

For the poor craven bridegroom said never 
a word, — 

' Oh ! come ye in peace here, or come ye in 
war. 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Loch- 
invar ? ' — 

' I long wooed your daughter, my suit you 

denied ; 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like 

its tide — 
And now am I come, with this lost love of 

mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of 

wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely 

by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young 

Lochinvar.' 

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight 

took it up, 
He quaffed off the wine, and he tlirew down 

the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked 

up to sigh, 
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her 

eye. 



He took her soft hand ere her mother could 

bar, — 
' Now tread we a measure ! * said young 

Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace : 
While her mother did fret, and her father 

did fume. 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his 

bonnet and plume ; 
And the bride-maidens whispered, '"Twere 

better by far 
To have matched our fair cousin with young 

Lochinvar.' 

One touch to her hand and one word in her 

ear, 
When they reached the hall-door, and the 

charger stood near ; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
' She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, 

and scaur ; 
They '11 have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth 
- young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting "mong Graemes of the 

Netherby clan ; 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they 

rode and they ran : 
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie 

Lee, 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did 

they see. 
So daring in love and so dauntless in war. 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young 

Lochinvar ? 



The monarch o'er the siren hung, 
And beat the measure as she sung ; 
And, pressing closer and more near. 
He whispered praises in her ear. 
In loud applause the courtiers vied. 
And ladies winked and spoke aside. 

The witching dame to Marmion threw 
A glance, where seemed to reign 

The pride that claims applauses due. 

And of her royal conquest too 
A real or feigned disdain : 
F'amiliar was the look, and told 
Marmion and she were friends of old. 
Tlie king observed their meeting eyes 
With something like displeased surprise : 
For monarchs ill can rivals brook. 
Even in a word, or smile, or look. 
Straight took he forth the parchment broad 
Which iMarmion's high commission showed : 



M ARM ION. 



119 







Wi 

-^: 



' Our Borders sacked by many a raid, 
Our peaceful liege-men robbed,' he said, 
'• On day of truce our warden slain, 
Stout Barton killed, his vessels ta'en — 
Unworthy were we here to reign, 
Should these for vengeance cry in vain; 
Our full defiance, hate, and scorn, 
Our herald has to Henry borne.' 

XIV. 

He paused, and led where Douglas stood 
And with stern eye the pageant viewed ; 
I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore. 
Who coronet of Angus bore. 
And, when his blood and heart were high, 
Did the third James in camp defy. 
And all his minions led to die 

On Lauder's dreary fiat. 
Princes and favorites long grew tame, 
And trembled at the homely name 

Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat ; 
The same who left the dusky vale 
Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 

Its dungeons and its towers. 
Where BothwelTs turrets brave the air, 
And Bothwell bank is blooming fair. 

To fix his princely bowers. 
Though now in age he had laid down 
His armor for the peaceful gown, 

And for a staff his brand. 
Yet often would flash forth the fire 
That could in youth a monarch's ire 

And minion's pride withstand ; 
And even that day at council board. 



Unapt to soothe his sovereign's mood. 
Against the war had Angus stood. 
And chafed his royal lord. 



His giant-form, like ruined tower. 
Though fallen its muscles' brawny vaunt, 
Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt. 

Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to lower; 
His locks and beard in silver grew, 
His eyebrows kept their sable hue. 
Near Douglas when the monarch stood. 
His bitter speech he thus pursued : 
' Lord Marmion, since these letters say 
That in the North you needs must stay 

While slightest hopes of peace remain, 
Uncourteous speech it were and stern 
To say — Return to Lindisfarne, 

LTntil my herald come again. 
Then rest you in Tantallon hold : 
Your host shall be the Douglas bold. — 
A chief unlike his sires of old. 
He wears their motto on his blade, 
Their blazon o'er his towers displayed. 
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose 
More than to face his country's foes. 

And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen. 

But e'en this morn to me was given 
A prize, the first fruits of the war, 
Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, 

A bevy of the maids of heaven. 
Under your guard these holy maids 
Shall safe return to cloister shades, 
And. while they at Tantallon stay, 



I20 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Requiem for Cochran's soul may say.' 
And with the slaughtered favorite's name 
Across the monarch's brow there came 
A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame. 



In answer nought could Angus speak, 
His proud heart swelled well-nigh to break ; 
He turned aside, and down his cheek 

A burning tear there stole. 
His hand the monarch sudden took. 
That sight his kind heart could not brook : 

' Now, by the Bruce's soul, 
Angus, my hasty speech forgive ! 
For sure as doth his spirit live, 
As he said of the Douglas old, 

I well may say of you, — 
That never king did subject hold. 
In speech more free, in war more bold. 

More tender and more true ; 
Forgive me, Douglas, once again.' — 
And, while the king his hand did strain, 
The old man's tears fell down like rain. 
To seize the moment Marmion tried. 
And whispered to the king aside : 
' Oh ! let such tears unwonted plead 
For respite short from dubious deed ! 
A child will weep a bramble's smart, 
A maid to see her sparrow part, 
A stripling for a woman's heart ; 
But woe awaits a country when 
She sees the tears of bearded men. 
Then, oh ! what omen, dark and high, 
When Douglas wets his manly eye ! ' 



Displeased was James that stranger viewed 
And tampered with his changing mood. 
' Laugh those that can, weep those that may,' 
Thus did the fiery monarch say, 
' Southward I march by break of day ; 
And if within Tantallon strong 
The good Lord Marmion tarries long, 
Perchance our meeting next may fall 
At Tamworth in his castle-hall.' — 
The haughty Marmion felt the taunt. 
And answered grave the royal vaunt : 
' Much honored were my humble home, 
If in its halls King James should come ; 
But Nottingham has archers good, 
And Yorkshire men are stern of mood, 
Northumbrian prickers wild and rude. 
On Derby Hills the paths are steep, 
In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep ; 
And many a banner will be torn, 
And many a knight to earth be borne. 
And many a sheaf of arrows spent. 
Ere Scotland's king shall cross the Trent : 
Yet pause, brave prince, while yet you 
may ! ' — 



The monarch lightly turned away. 

And to his nobles loud did call, 

' Lords, to the dance, — a hall ! a hall ! ' 

Himself his cloak and sword flung by, 

And led Dame Heron gallantly ; 

And minstrels, at the royal order, 

Rung out ' Blue Bonnets o'er the Border.' 



Leave we these revels now to tell 
What to Saint Hilda's maids befell, 
Wliose galley, as they sailed again 
To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en. 
Now at Dun-Eclin did they bide 
Till James should of their fate decide. 

And soon by his command 
Were gently summoned to prepare 
To journey under Marmion's care. 
As escort honored, safe, and fair. 

Again to English land. 
The abbess told her chaplet o'er, 
Nor knew which Saint she should implore ; 
For, when she thought of Constance, sore 

She feared Lord Marmion's mood. 
And judge what Clara must have felt ! 
The sword that hung in Marmion's belt 

Had drunk De Wilton's blood. 
Unwittingly King James had given, 

As guard to Whitby's shades. 
The man most dreaded under heaven 

By these defenceless maids ; 
Yet what petition could avail, 
Or who would listen to the tale 
Of woman, prisoner, and nun. 
Mid bustle of a war begun? 
They deemed it hopeless to avoid 
The convoy of their dangerous guide. 



Their lodging, so the king assigned. 
To Marmion's, as their guardian, joined; 
And thus it fell that, passing nigh. 
The Palmer caught the abbess' eye, 

Who warned him by a scroll 
She had a secret to reveal 
That much concerned the Church's weal 

And health of sinner's soul ; 
And, with deep charge of secrecy. 

She named a place to meet 
Within an open balcony. 
That hung from dizzy pitch and high 

Above the stately street. 
To which, as common to each home, 
At night they might in secret come. 



At night in secret there they came. 

The Palmer and the holy dame. 

The moon among the clouds rode higli. 



M ARM ION. 



121 



And all the city hum was by. 
Upon the street, where late before 
Did din of war and warriors roar, 

You might have heard a pebble fall, 
A beetle hum, a cricket sing. 
An owlet flap his boding wing 

On Giles's steeple tall. 
The antique buildings, climbing high, 
Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky. 

Were here wrapt deep in shade ; 
There on their brows the moonbeam broke. 
Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke, 

And on the casements played. 



Though I must speak of worldly love, — 
How vain to those who wed above ! — 
De Wilton and Lord Marmion wooed 
Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood ; — 
Idle it were of Whitby's dame 
To say of that same blood I came ; — 
And once, when jealous rage was high. 
Lord Marmion said despiteously, 
Wilton was traitor in his heart. 
And had made league with Martin Swart 
When he came here on Simnel's part, 
And only cowardice did restrain 
His rebel aid on Stokelield's plain, — 




And other light was none to see, 

Save torches gliding far, 
Before some chieftain of degree 
Who left the royal revelry 

To bowne him for the war. — 
A solemn scene the abbess chose, 
A solemn hour, her secret to disclose. 



• O holy Palmer ! ' she began, — 
' For sure he must be sainted man, 
Whose blessed feet have trod the ground 
Where the Redeemer's tomb is found, — 
For his dear Church's sake, my tale 
Attend, nor deem of light avail. 



And down he threw his glove. The thing 
Was tried, as wont, before the king; 
Where frankly did De Wilton own 
That Swart in Guelders he had known. 
And that between them then there went 
Some scroll of courteous compliment. 
For this he to his castle sent ; 
But when his messenger returned, 
Judge how De Wilton's fury burned ! 
For in his packet there were laid 
Letters that claimed disloyal aid 
And proved King Henry's cause betrayed. 
His fame, thus bhghted, in the lield 
He strove to clear by spear and shield ; — 
To clear his fame in vain he strove. 



122 



scorrs poetical works. 



For wondrous are His ways above ! 
Perchance some form was unobserved, 
Perchance in prayer or faith he swerved, 
Else how could guiltless champion quail, 
Or how the blessed ordeal fail ? 



' His squire, who now De Wilton saw 
As recreant doomed to suffer law, 

Repentant, owned in vain 
That while he had the scrolls in care 
A stranger maiden, passing fair. 
Had drenched him with a beverage rare : 

His words no faith could gain. 
With Clare alone he credence won, 
Who, rather than wed Marmion, 
Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair. 
To give our house her livings fair 
And die a vestal votaress there. 
The impulse from the earth was given. 
But bent her to the paths of heaven. 
A purer heart, a lovelier maid, 
Ne'er sheltered her in Whitby's shade. 
No, not since Saxon Edelfled ; 
Only one trace of earthly stain. 

That for her lover's loss 
She cherishes a sorrow vain. 

And murmurs at the cross. — 
And then her heritage : —it goes 

Along the banks of Tame ; 
Deep fields of grain the reaper mows. 
In meadows rich the heifer lows. 
The falconer and huntsman knows 

Its woodlands for the game. 
Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear. 
And I, her humble votaress here. 

Should do a deadly sin, 
Her temple spoiled before mine eyes, 
If this false Marmion such a prize 

By my consent should win ; 
Yet hath our boisterous monarch sworn 
That Clare shall from our house be torn. 
And grievous cause have I to fear 
Such' mandate doth Lord Marmion bear. 



' Now, prisoner, helpless, and betrayed 
To evil power, I claim thine aid. 

By every step that thou hast trod 
To holy shrine and grotto dim. 
By every martyr's tortured limb, 
By angel, saint, and seraphim. 

And by the Church of God ! 
For mark : when Wilton was betrayed. 
And with his squire forged' letters laid, 
She was, alas ! that sinful maid 

By whom the deed was done, — 
Oh ! shame and horror to be said ! 

She was — a perjured nun ! 
No clerk in all the land like her 



Traced c]uaint and varying character. 
Perchance you may a marvel deem. 

That Marmion's paramour — 
For such vile thing she was — should 
scheme 

Her lover's nuptial hour 
But o'er him thus she hoped to gain. 
As privy to his honor's sta;in, 

Illimitable power. 
For this she secretly retained 

Each proof that might the plot reveal, 

Instructions with his hand and seal; 
And thus Saint Hilda deigned. 

Through sinners' periidy impure. 

Her house's glory to secure 

And Clare's immortal weal. 



' 'T were long and needless here to tell 
How to my hand these papers fell ; 

With me they must not stay. 
Saint Hilda keep her abbess true ! 
Who knows what outrage he might do 

While journeying by the way? — 

blessed Saint, if e'er again 

1 venturous leave thy calm domain, 
To travel or by land or main, 

Deep penance may I pay ! — 
Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer : 
I give this packet to thy care, 
For thee to stop they will not dare ; 

And oh ! with cautious speed 
To Wolsey's hand the papers bring. 
That he may show them to the king : 

And for thy well-earned meed, 
Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine 
A weekly mass shall still be thine 

While priests can sing and read. — 
What ail'st thou ? — Speak ! ' — For as he 

took 
The charge a strong emotion shook 

His frame, and ere reply 
They heard a faint yet shrilly tone, 
Like"^ distant clarion feebly blown. 

That on the breeze did die ; 
And loud the abbess shrieked in fear, 
' Saint Withold, save us ! — What is here ! 

Look at yon City Cross ! 
See on its battled tower appear 
Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear 

And blazoned banners toss ! ' — 



Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillared stone, 
Rose on a turret octagon ; — 
But now is razed that monument. 

Whence royal edict rang. 
And, voice of Scotland's law was sent 

In glorious trumpet-clang. 



M ARM I ON. 



12 




Oh ! be his tomb as lead to lead 
Upon its dull destroyer's head ! — 
A minstrel's malison is said. — 
Then on its battlements they saw 
A vision, passing Nature's law, 
Strange, wild, and dhnly seen ; 



Figures that seemed to rise and die, 
Gibber and sign, advance and fly, 
While nought confirmed could ear or eye 

Discern of sound or mien. 
Yet darkly did it seem as there 
Heralds and pursuivants prepare, 



124 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



With trumpet sound and blazon fair, 

A summons to proclaim ; 
But indistinct the pageant proud, 
As fancy forms of midnight cloud 
When flings the moon upon her shroud 

A wavering tinge of flame ; 
It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud, 
From midmost of the spectre crowd. 

This awful summons came : — 



' Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer. 

Whose names I now shall call, 
Scottish or foreigner, give ear ! 
Subjects of him who sent me here. 
At his tribunal to appear 
I summon one and all : 
I cite you by each deadly sin 
That e'er hath soiled your hearts within ; 
I cite you by each brutal lust 
That e'er defiled your earthly dust, — 

By wrath, by pride, by fear. 
By each o'ermastering passion's tone, 
By the dark grave and dying groan ! 
When forty days are passed and gone, 
I cite you, at your monarch's throne 

To answer and appear.' — 
Then thundered forth a roll of names : — 
The first was thine, unhappy James ! 

Then all thy nobles came ; 
Crawford, Glencairn, iVIontrose, Argyle, 
Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle, — 
Why should I tell their separate style ? 

Each chief of birth and fame. 
Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle, 
Foredoomed to Flodden's carnage pile. 

Was cited there by name ; 
And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye ; 
De Wilton, erst of Aberley, 
The self-same thundering voice did say. — 

But then another spoke : 
' Thy fatal summons I deny 
And thine infernal lord defy, 
Appealing me to Him on high 

Who burst the sinner's yoke.' 
At that dread accent, with a scream. 
Parted the pageant like a dream. 

The summoner was gone. 
Prone on her face the abbess fell, 
And fast, and fast, her beads did tell ; 
Her nuns came, startled by the yell. 

And found her there alone. 
She marked not, at the scene aghast. 
What time or how the Palmer passed. 

XXVII. 

Shift we the scene. — The camp doth move : 
Dun-Edin's streets are empty now, 



Save when, for weal of those they love 

To pray the prayer and vow the vow. 
The tottering child, the anxious fair. 
The gray-haired sire, with pious care. 
To chapels and to shrines rej^air. — 
Where is the Palmer now ? and where 
The abbess, Marmion, and Clare ? — 
Bold Douglas ! to Tantallon fair 

They journey in thy charge : 
Lord Marmion rode on his right hand. 
The Palmer still was with the band; 
Angus, like Lindesay, did command 

That none should roam at large. 
But in that Palmer's altered mien 
A wondrous change might now be seen 

Freely he spoke o,f war. 
Of marvels wrought by single hand 
When lifted for a native land. 
And still looked high, as if he planned 

Some desperate deed afar. 
His courser would he feed and stroke, 
And, tucking up his sable frock. 
Would first his mettle bold provoke, 

Then soothe or quell his pride. 
Old Hubert said that never one 
He saw, except Lord Marmion, 

A steed so fairly ride. 



Some half-hour's march behind there came. 
By Eustaqe governed fair, 

A troop escorting Hilda's dame. 
With all her nuns and Clare. 

No audience had Lord Marmion sought ; 
Ever he feared to aggravate 
Clara de Clare's suspicious hate ; 

And safer 't was, he thought. 

To wait till, from the nuns removed. 
The influence of kinsmen loved, 
And suit by Henry's self approved. 

Her slow consent had wrought. 

His was no flickering flame, that dies 
Unless when fanned by looks and sighs 
And lighted oft at lady's eyes ; 
He longed to stretch his wide command 
O'er luckless Clara's ample land : 
Besides, when Wilton with him vied. 
Although the pang of humbled pride 
The place of jealousy supplied. 
Yet conquest, by that meanness won 
He almost loathed to think upon. 
Led him, at times, to hate the cause 
Which Inade him burst through honor's 

laws. 
If e'er he loved, 't was her alone 
Who died within tliat vault of stone. 



And now, when close at hand they saw 
North Berwick's town and lofty Law, 



M ARM I ON. 



125 




Fitz-Eustace bade them pause awhile 
Before a venerable pile 

Whose turrets viewed afar 
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle, 

The ocean's peace or war. 
At tolling of a bell, forth came 
The convent's venerable dame, 
And prayed Saint Hilda's abbess rest 
With her, a loved and honored guest, 
Till Douglas should a bark prepare 
To waft her back to Whitby fair. 
Glad was the abbess, you may guess, 
And thanked the Scottish prioress ; 
And tedious were to tell, I ween, 
The courteous speech that passed be- 
tween. 

O'erjoyed the nuns their palfreys leave; 
But when fair Clara did intend, 
Like them, from horseback to descend, 

Fitz-Eustace said : ' 1 grieve, 
Fair lady, grieve e'en from my heart. 
Such gentle company to part : — 

Think not discourtesy. 
But lords' commands must be obeyed. 
And Marmion and the Douglas said 

That you must wend with me. 
Lord Marmion hath a letter broad. 
Which to the Scottish earl he showed, 
Commanding that beneath his care 
Without delay you shall repair 
To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare." 



The startled abbess loud exclaimed ; 
But she at whom the blow was aimed 
Grew pale as death and cold as lead, — 
She deemed she heard her death-doom read. 
' Cheer thee, my child ! ' the abbess said, 
' They dare not tear thee from my hand. 
To ride alone with armed band.' — 

' Nay, holy mother, nay,' 
Fitz-Eustace said, 'the lovely Clare 
Will be in Lady Angus' care, 

In Scotland while we stay ; 
And when we move an easy ride 
Will bring us to the English side. 
Female attendance to provide 

Befitting Gloster's heir ; 
Nor thinks nor dreams my noble lord, 
By slightest look, or act, or word. 

To harass Lady Clare. 
Her faithful guardian he will be. 
Nor sue for slightest courtesy 

That e'en to stranger falls. 
Till he shall place her safe and free 

Within her kinsman's halls.' 
He spoke, and blushed with earnest grace; 
His faith was painted on his face, 

And Clare's worst fear relieved. 
The Lady Abbess loud exclaimed 
On Henry, and the Douglas blamed. 

Entreated, threatened, grieved. 
To martyr, saint, and prophet prayed, 



126 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Against Lord Marmion inveighed, 
And called the prioress to aid, 
To curse with candle, bell, and book. 
Her head the grave Cistertian shook : 
' The Douglas and the king,' she said, 
' In their commands will be obeyed ; 
Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall 
The maiden in Tantallon Hall.' 



The abbess, seeing strife was vain, 
Assumed her wonted state again, — 

For much of state she had, — 
Composed her veil, and raised her head, 



Even such weak minister as me 
May the oppressor bruise ; 

For thus, inspired, did Judith slay 
The mighty in his sin. 

And Jael thus, and Deborah ' — 
Here hasty Blount broke in : 
' Fitz-Eustace, we must march our band; 
Saint Anton' fire thee ! wilt thou stand 
All day, with bonnet in thy hand, 

To hear the lady preach ? 
By this good light ! if thus we stay, 
Lord Marmion for our fond delay 

Will sharper sermon teach. 
Come, don thy cap and mount thy horse ; 
The dame must patience take perforce.' 




And ' Bid,' in solemn voice she said, 
' Thy master, bold and bad. 

The records of his house turn o'er, 
And, when he shall there written see 
That one of his own ancestry 
Drove the monks forth of Coventry, 

Bid him his fate explore ! 

Prancing in pride of earthly trust, 
His charger hurled him to the dust, 
And, by a base plebeian thrust, 

He died his band before. 

God judge 'twi.xt Marmion and me : 
He is a chief of high degree, 

And I a poor recluse. 

Yet oft in holy writ we see 



' Submit we then to force,' said Clare, 
'But let this barbarous lord despair 

His purposed aim to win ; 
Let him take living, land, and life, 
But to be Marmion's wedded wife 

In me were deadly sin : 
And if it be the king's decree 
That I must find no sanctuary 
In that inviolable dome 
Where even a homicide might come 

And safely rest his head, 
Though at its open portals stood, 
Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood. 

The kinsmen of the dead, 



M ARM I ON. 



12\ 



Yet one asylum is my own 

Against the dreaded hour, — 
A low, a silent, and a lone, 

Where kings have little power. 
One victim is before me there. — 
Mother, your blessing, and in prayer 
Remember your unhappy Clare ! ' 
Loud weeps the abbess, and bestows 

Kind blessings many a one ; 
Weeping and wailing loud arose, 
Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes 

Of every simple nun. 
His eye's the gentle Eustace dried. 
And scarce rude Blount the sight could 
bide. 

Then took the squire her rein, 
And gently led away her steed. 
And by each courteous word and deed 

To cheer her strove in vain. 



XXXIII. 

But scant three miles the band had rode. 

When o'er a height they passed, 
And, sudden, close before them showed 

His towers Tantallon vast. 
Broad, massive, high, and stretching far. 
And held impregnable in war. 
On a projecting rock they rose. 
And round three sides the ocean flows. 
The fourth did battled walls enclose 

And double mound and fosse. 
By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong. 
Through studded gates, an entrance long. 

To the main court they cross. 
It was a wide and stately square ; 
Around were lodgings fit and fair, 

And towers of various form, 
Which on the court projected far 
And broke its lines quadrangular. 
Here was square keep, there turret high. 
Or pinnacle that sought the sky, 
Whence oft the warder could descry 

The gatherins: ocean-storm. 



XXXIV. 

Here did they rest. — The princely care 
Of Douglas why should I declare. 
Or say they met reception fair ? 

Or why the tidings say, 
Which varying to Tantallon came. 
By hurrying posts or fleeter fame. 

With every varying day ? 
And, first, they heard King James had won 

Etall, and Wark, and Ford ; and then. 

That Norham Castle strong was ta'en. 
At that sore marvelled Marmion, 
And Douglas hoped his monarch's hand 
Would soon subdue Northumberland ; 

But whispered news there came. 
That while his host inactive lay, 
And melted by degrees away. 
King James was dallying off the day 

With Heron's wily dame. 
Such acts to chronicles I yield ; 

Go seek them there and see : 
Mine is a tale of Flodden Field, 

And not a history. — 
At length they heard the Scottish host 
On that high ridge had made their post 

Which frowns o'er Millfield Plain ; 
And that brave Surrey many a band 
Had gathered in the Southern land, 
And marched into Northumberland, 

And camp at Wooler ta'en. 
Marmion, like charger in the stall. 
That hears, without, the trumpet-call. 

Began to chafe and swear : — 
' A sorry thing to hide my head 
In castle, like a fearful maid, 

When such a field is near. 
Needs must I see this battle-day ; 
Death to my fame if such a fray 
Were fought, and Marmion away ! 

The Douglas, too, I wot not why, 

Hath bated of his courtesy ; 
No longer in his halls I'll stay : ' 
Th^n bade his band they should array 
For march against the dawning day. 




128 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




ittarmion. 

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. 
To RICHARD HEBER, ESQ. 

Mertoiin House, Christmas. 

Heap on more wood ! — the wind is chill ; 

But let it whistle as it will, 

We '11 keep our Christmas merry still. 

Each age has deemed the new-born year 

The fittest time for festal cheeer: 

Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane 

At lol more deep the mead did drain, 

High on the beach his galleys drew, 

And feasted all his pirate crew ; 

Then in his low and pine-built hall. 

Where shields and axes decked the wall. 

They gorged upon the half-dressed steer, 

Caroused in seas of sable beer. 

While round in brutal jest were thrown 

The half-gnawed rib and marrowbone, 

Or listened all in grim delight 

While scalds yelled out the joys of figlit. 

Then forth in frenzy would they hie, 

While wildly loose their red locks fly. 

And dancing round the blazing pile. 

They make such barbarous mirth the while 

As best might to the mind recall 

The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. 

And well our Christian sires of old 
Loved when the year its course had rolled. 
And brought blithe Christmas back again 
With all his hospitable train. 
Domestic and religious rite 
Gave honor to the holy night ; 
On Christmas eve the bells were rung, 
On Christmas eve the mass was sung : 
That only night in all the year 
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. 
The damsel donned her kirtle sheen ; 
The hall was dressed with holly green ; 
Forth to the wood did merrymen go. 
To gather in the mistletoe.. 
Then opened wide the baron's hall 
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; 
Power laid his rod of rule aside, 
And Ceremony doffed his pride. 



The heir, with roses in his shoes, 
That night might village partner choose ; 
The lord, underogating, share 
The vulgar game of 'post and pair." 
All hailed, with uncontrolled delight 
And general voice, the happy night 
That to the cottage, as the crown, 
Brought tidings of salvation down. 

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied. 
Went roaring up the chimney wide ; 
■The huge hall-table's oaken face, 
Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace. 
Bore then upon its massive board 
No mark to part the scjuire and lord. 
Then was brought in the lusty brawn 
By old blue-coated serving-man ; 
Then the grim boar's-head frowned on high, 
Crested with bays and rosemary. 
Well can the green-garbed ranger tell 
How, when, and where, the monster fell. 
What dogs before his death he tore, 
And all the baiting of the boar. 
The wassail round, in good brown bowls 
Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls. 
There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by 
Plum-porridge stood and Christmas pie ; 
Nor failed old Scotland to produce 
At such high tide her savory goose. 
Then came the merry maskers in. 
And carols roared witli blithesome din : 
If unmelodious was the song. 
It was a hearty note and strong. 
Who lists may in their mumming see 
Traces of ancient mystery ; 
White shirts supplied the masquerade, 
And smutted cheeks the visors made ; 
But oh ! what maskers, richly dight, 
Can boast of bosoms half so light ! 
England was merry England when 
Old Christmas brought his sports again. 
'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale. 
'T was Christmas told the merriest tale : 
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
The poor man's heart through half the year. 

Still linger in our northern clime 
Some remnants of the good old time. 
And still within our valleys here 
We hold the kindred title dear, 
Even when, perchance, its far-fetched claim 
To Southron ear sounds empty name ; 
For course of blood, our proverbs deem. 
Is warmer than the mountain-stream. 
And thus my Christmas still I hold 
Where my great-grandsire came of old. 
With amber beard and fia.xen hair 
And reverend apostolic air, 
The feast and holy-tide to share, 
And mix sobriety with wine, 



MARMION. 



129 



And honest mirth with thoughts divine : 

Small thought was his, in after time 

E'er to be hitched into a rhyme. 

The simple sire could only boast 

That he was loyal to his cost, 

The banished race of kings revered. 

And lost his land, — but kept his beard. 

In these dear halls, where welcome kind 
Is with fair liberty combined, 
Where cordial friendship gives the hand. 
And flies constraint the magic wand 
Of the fair dame that rules the land, 
Little we heed the tempest drear. 
While music, mirth, and social cheer 
Speed on their wings the passing year. 
And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now. 
When not a leaf is on the bough. 
Tweed loves them well, and turns again, 
As loath to leave the sweet domain, 
And holds his mirror to her face, 
And clips her with a close embrace : — 
Gladly as he we seek the dome. 
And as reluctant turn us home. 

How just that at this time of glee 
My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee! 
For many a merry hour we 've known. 
And heard the chimes of midnight's tone. 
Cease, then, my friend ! a moment cease. 
And leave these classic tomes in peace ! 
Of Roman and of Grecian lore 
Sure mortal brain can hold no more. 
These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say, 
' Were pretty fellows in their day,' 
But time and tide o'er all prevail — 
On Christmas eve a Christmas tale — 
Of wonder and of war — ' Profane ! 
What ! leave the lofty Latian strain, 
Her stately prose, her verse's charms. 
To hear the clash of rusty arms ; 
In Fairy-land or Limbo lost. 
To jostle conjurer and ghost, 
Goblin and witch ! ' — Nay, Heber dear. 
Before you touch my charter, hear ; 
Though Leyden aids, alas ! no more, 
My cause with many-languaged lore. 
This may I say : — in realms of death 
Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith^ 
^neas upon Thracia's shore 
The ghost of murdered Polydore ; 
For omens, we in Livy cross 
At every turn locutits Bos. 
As grave and duly speaks that ox 
As if he told the price of stocks. 
Or held in Rome republican 
The place of Common-councilman. 

All nations have their omens drear, 
Their legends wild of woe and fear. 



To Cambria look — the peasant see 

Bethink him of Glendowerdy 

And shun ' the Spirit's Blasted Tree.' — 

The Highlander, whose red claymore 

The battle turned on Maida's shore, 

Will on a Friday morn look pale. 

If asked to tell a fairy tale : 

He fears the vengeful Elfin King, 

Who leaves that clay his grassy ring; 

Invisible to human ken. 

He walks among the sons of men. 

Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass along 
Beneath the towers of Franchemont, 
Which, like an eagle's nest in air, 
Hang o'er the stream and hamlet fair ? 
Deep in their vaults, the peasants say, 
A mighty treasure buried lay, 
Amassed through rapine and through wrong 
By the last Lord of Franchemont. 
The iron chest is bolted hard, 
A huntsman sits its constant guard ; 
Around his neck his horn is hung, 
His hanger in his belt is slung ; 
Before his feet his bloodhounds lie : 
An 't were not for his gloomy eye. 
Whose withering glance no heart can brook, 
As true a huntsman doth he look 
As bugle e'er in brake did sound, 
Or ever hallooed to a hound. 
To chase the fiend and win the prize 
In that same dungeon ever tries 
An aged necromantic priest ; 
It is an hundred years at least 
Since 'twixt them first the strife begun. 
And neither yet has lost nor won. 
And oft the conjurer's words will make 
The stubborn demon groan and quake ; 
And oft the bands of iron break, 
Or bursts one lock that still amain 
Fast as 't is opened, shuts again. 
That magic strife within the tomb 
May last until the day of doom, 
Unless the adept shall learn to tell 
The very word that clenched the spell 
When Franch'mont locked the treasure cell. 
An hundred years are passed and gone, 
And scarce three letters has he won. 

Such general superstition may 
Excuse for old Pitscottie say. 
Whose gossip history has given 
My song the messenger from heaven 
That warned, in Lithgow, Scotland's king. 
Nor less the infernal summoning; 
May pass the Monk of Durham's tale. 
Whose demon fought in Gothic mail ; 
May pardon plead for Fordun grave, 
Who told of Gifford's Goblin-Cave. 
But why such instances to you, 



I30 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Who in an instant can renew 
Your treasured hoards of various lore, 
And furnish twenty thousand more ? 
Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes rest 
Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest. 
While gripple owners still refuse 
To others what they cannot use ; 
Give them the priest's whole century, 
They shall not spell you letters three, — 
Their pleasure in the books the same 
The magpie takes in pilfered gem. 
Thy volumes, open as thy heart, 
Delight, amusement, science, art. 
To every ear and eye impart ; 
Yet who, of all who thus employ them, 
Can like the owner's self enjoy them ? — 
But, hark ! I hear the distant drum ! 
The day of Flodden Field is come, — 
Adieu, dear- Heber! life and health, 
And store of literary wealth. 




ill arm ion. 



CANTO SIXTH, 



THE BATTLE. 



While great events were on the gale, 

And each hour brought a varying tale, 

And the demeanor, changed and cold, 

Of Douglas fretted Marmion bold. 

And, like the impatient steed of war, 

He snuffed the battle from afar, 

And hopes were none that back again 

Herald should come from Terouenne, 

Where England's king in leaguer lay. 

Before decisive battle-day, — 

While these things were, the mournful Clare 

Did in the dame's devotions share ; 

For the good countess ceaseless prayed 

To Heaven and saints her sons to aid, 

And with short interval did pass 

From prayer to book, from book to mass, 

And all in high baronial pride, — 

A life both dull and dignified : 



Yet, as Lord Marmion nothing pressed 

Upon her intervals of rest. 

Dejected Clara well could bear 

The formal state, the lengthened prayer, 

Though dearest to her wounded heart 

The hours that she might spend apart. 



I said Tantallon's dizzy steep 

Hung o'er the margin of the deep. 

Many a rude tower and rampart there 

Repelled the insult of the air. 

Which, when the tempest vexed the sky, 

Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by. 

Above the rest a turret square 

Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear. 

Of sculjature rude, a stony shield; 

The Bloody Heart was in the field, 

And in the chief three mullets stood, 

The cognizance of Douglas blood. 

The turret held a narrow stair. 

Which, mounted, gave you access where 

A parapet's embattled row 

Did seaward round the castle go. 

Sometimes in dizzy steps descending, 

Sometimes in narrow circuit bending. 

Sometimes in platform broad extending. 

Its varying circle did combine 

Bulwark, and bartizan, and line, 

And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign. 

Above the booming ocean leant 

The far-projecting battlement ; 

The billows burst in ceaseless flow 

Upon the precipice below. 

Where'er Tantallon faced the land, 

Gate-works and walls were strongly manned ; 

No need upon the sea-girt side : 

The steepy rock and frantic tide 

Approach of human step denied, 

And thus these lines and ramparts rude 

Were left in deepest soHtude. 



And, for they were so lonely, Clare 
Would to these battlements repair. 
And muse upon her sorrows there. 

And list the sea-bird's cry, 
Or slow, like noontide ghost, would glide 
Along the dark-gray bulwarks' side. 
And ever on the heaving tide 

Look down with weary eye. 
Oft did the cliff and swelling main 
Recall the thoughts of Whitby's fane, — 
A home she ne'er might see again; 

For she had laid adown. 
So Douglas bade, the hood and veil, 
And frontlet of the cloister pale. 

And Benedictine gown : 
It were unseemly sight, he said, 
A novice out of convent shade. — 



M ARM ION. 



131 




Now her bright locks with sunny glow 
Again adorned her brow of snow ; 
Her mantle rich, whose borders round 
A deep and fretted broidery bound, 
In golden foldings sought the ground ; 
Of holy ornament, alone 
Remained a cross with ruby stone ; 

And often did she look 
On that which in her hand she bore, 
With velvet bound and broidered o'er, 

Her breviary book. 
In such a place, so lone, so grim. 
At dawning pale or twilight dim. 

It fearful would have laeen 
To meet a form so richly dressed, 
With book in hand, and cross on breast. 

And such a woful mien. 
Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow, 
To practise on the gull and crow. 
Saw her at distance gliding slow. 

And did by Mary swear 
Some lovelorn fay she might have been, 
Or in romance some spell-bound queen. 
For ne'er in work-day world was seen 

A form so witchins: fair. 



IV. 

Once walking thus at evening tide 
It chanced a gliding sail she spied, 
And sighing thought — ' The abbess there 
Perchance does to her home repair ; 



Her peaceful rule, where Duty free 

Walks hand in hand with Charity, 

Where oft Devotion's tranced glow 

Can such a glimpse of heaven bestow 

That the enraptured sisters see 

High vision and deep mystery, — 

The very form of Hilda fair. 

Hovering upon the sunny air 

And smiling on her votaries' prayer. 

Oh ! wherefore to my duller eye 

Did still the Saint her form deny ? 

Was it that, seared by sinful scorn. 

My heart could neither melt nor burn 'i 

Or lie my warm affections low 

With him that taught them first to glow .'' 

Yet, gentle abbess, well I knew 

To pay thy kindness grateful due, 

Ancl well could brook the mild command 

That ruled thy simple maiden band. 

How different now, condemned to bide 

My doom from this dark tyrant's pride ! — 

But Marmion has to learn ere long 

That constant mind and hate of wrong 

Descended to a feeble girl 

From Red de Clare, stout Gloster's Earl : 

Of such a stem a sapling weak, 

He ne'er shall bend, although he break. 



But see ! — what makes this armor here .'' ' — 
For in her path there lay 



132 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Targe, corselet, helm ; she viewed them 

near. — 
'The breastplate pierced! — Ay. much 1 

fear, 
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's 

spear, 
That hath made fatal entrance here. 

As these dark blood-gouts say. — 
Thus Wilton ! — Oh ! not corselet's ward, 
Not truth, as diamond pure and hard. 
Could be thy manly bosom's guard 

On yon disastrous day ! ' — 
She raised her eyes in mournful mood, — 
Wilton himself before her stood ! 
It might have seemed his passing ghost, 
For every youthful grace was lost. 
And joy unwonted and surprise 
Gave their strange wildness to his eyes. — 
Expect not, noble dames and lords, 
That I can tell such scene in words : 
What skilful limner e'er would choose 
To paint the rainbow's varying hues. 
Unless to mortal it were given 
To dip his brush in dyes of heaven ? 
Far less can my weak line declare 

Each changing passion's shade : 
Brightening to rapture from despair. 
Sorrow, surprise, and pity there. 
And joy with her angelic air, 
And hope that paints the future fair. 

Their varying hues displayed ; 
Each o'er its rival's ground extending. 
Alternate conquering, shifting, blending. 



Till all fatigued the conflict yield. 
And mighty love retains the field. 
Shortly I tell what then he said, 
By many a tender word delayed, 
And modest blush, and bursting sig 
And question kind, and fond reply : 



IBe aSIilton's ?l?tstor8. 

' Forget we that disastrous day 
When senseless in the lists I lay. 

Thence dragged, — but how I cannot 
know. 
For sense and recollection fled, — 

I found me on a pallet low 
Within my ancient beadsman's shed. 

Austin. — remember'st thou, my Clare, 
How thou didst blush when the old man, 
When first our infant love began. 

Said we would make a matchless pair ? — 
Menials and friends and kinsmen fled 
From the degraded traitor's bed, — 
He only held my burning head, 
And tended me for many a day 
While wounds and fever held their sway. 
But far more needful was his care 
When sense returned to wake despair ; 

For I did tear the closing wound. 

And dash me frantic on the ground. 
If e'er I heard the name of Clare. 
At length, to calmer reason brought. 
Much by his kind attendance wrought, 




M ARM 10 A'-. 



133 




With him I left my native strand, 
And, in a pahner's weeds arrayed, 
My hated name and form to shade, 

I journeyed many a land, 
No more a lord of rank and birth. 
But mingled with the dregs of earth. 

Oft Austin for my reason feared, 



When I would sit, and deeply brood 
On dark revenge and deeds of blood. 

Or wild mad schemes upreared. 
My friend at length fell sick, and said 

God would remove him soon ; 
And while upon his dying bed 

He begged of me a boon — 



134 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



If e'er my deadliest enemy 
Beneath my brand should conquered lie, 
Even then my mercy should awake 
And spare his life for Austin's sake. 



' Still restless as a second Cain, 

To Scotland next my route was ta'en, 

Full well the path's I knew. 
Fame of my fate made various sound, 
That death in pilgrimage 1 found, 
That I had perished of'my wound, — 

None cared which tale was true ; 
And living eye could never guess 
De Wilton in his palmer's dress, 
For now that sable slough is shed, 
And trimmed my shaggy beard and head, 
I scarcely know me in the glass. 
A chance most wondrous did provide 
That I should be that baron's guide — 

I will not name his name ! — 
Vengeance to God alone belongs ; 
But, when I think on all my wrongs, 

My blood is liquid iiame ! 
And ne'er the time shall I forget 
When, in a Scottish hostel set. 

Dark looks we did exchange : 
What were his thoughts I cannot tell, 
But in my bosom mustered Hell 

Its plans of dark revenge. 



' A word of vulgar augury 

That broke from me, I scarce knew why. 

Brought on a village tale. 
Which wrought upon his moody sprite. 
And sent him armed forth by night. 

I borrowed steed and mail 
And weapons from his sleeping band ; 

And, passing from a postern door. 
We met and 'countered, hand to hand, — 

He fell on Gifford-moor. 
For the death-stroke my brand I drew, — 
Oh ! then my helmed head he knew. 

The palmer's cowl was gone, — 
Then had three inches of my blade 
The heavy debt of vengeance paid, — 
My hand the thought of Austin stayed ; 

I left him there alone. — 
O good old man ! even from the grave 
Thy spirit could thy master save : 
If I had slain my foeman, ne'er 
Had Whitby's abbess in her fear 
Given to my hand this packet dear. 
Of power to clear my injured fame 
And vindicate De Wilton's name. — 
Perchance you heard the abbess tell 
Of the strange pageantry of hell 

That broke our secret speech — 



It rose from the infernal shade, 
Or featly was some juggle played, 

A tale of peace to teach. 
Appeal to Heaven I judged was best 
When my name came among the rest. 



' Now here within Tantallon hold 

To Douglas late my tale I told, 

To whom my house was known of old. 

Won by my proofs, his falchion bright 

This eve anew shall dub me knight. 

These were the arms that once did turn 

The tide of fight on Otterburne, 

And Harry Hotspur forced to yield 

When the Dead Douglas won the field. 

These Angus gave — his armorer's care 

Ere morn shall every breach repair ; 

For nought, he said, was in his halls 

But ancient armor on the walls. 

And aged chargers in the stalls. 

And women, priests, and gray-haired men ; 

The rest were all in Twisel glen. 

And now I watch my armor here, 

By law of arms, till midnight 's near ; 

Then, once again a belted knight. 

Seek Surrey's ^camp with dawn of light. 



' There soon again we meet, my Clare ! 
This baron means to guide thee there : 
Douglas reveres his king's command, 
Else would he take thee from his band. 
And there thy kinsman Surrey, too, 
Will give De Wilton justice due. 
Now meeter far for martial broil. 
Firmer my limbs and strung by toil. 
Once more ' — ' O Wilton ! must we then 
Risk new-found happiness again. 

Trust fate of arms once more ? 
And is there not an humble glen 

Where we, content and poor. 
Might build a cottage in the shade, 
A shepherd thou, and I to aid 

Thy task on dale and moor 1 — 
That reddening brow ! — too well I know 
Not even thy Clare can peace bestow 

While falsehood stains thy name : 
Go then to fight ! Clare bids thee go ! 
Clare can a warrior's feelings know 

And weep a warrior's shame, 
Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel, 
Buckle the spurs upqn thy heel 
And belt thee with thy brand of steel, 

And send thee forth to fame ! ' 



That night upon the rocks and bay 

The midnight moonbeam slumbering lay, 



MARMION. 



135 



And poured its silver light and pure 
Tlirough loophole and through embrasure 

Upon Tantallon tower and hall ; 
But chief where arched windows wide 
Illuminate the chapel's pride 

The sober glances fall. 
Much was there need ; though seamed with 

scars, 
Two veterans of the Douglas' wars, 

Though two gray priests were there, 
And each a blazing torch held high, 
You could not by their blaze descry 

The chapel's carving fair. 
Amid that dim and smoky light. 
Checkering the silvery moonshine bright, 

A bishop by the altar stood, 

A noble lord of Douglas blood. 
With mitre sheen and rochet white. 
Yet showed his meek and thoughtful eye 
But little pride of prelacy ; 
More pleased that in a barbarous age 
He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page 
Than that beneath his rule he held 
The bishopric of fair Dunkeld. 
Beside him ancient Angus stood, 
Doffed his furred gown and sable hood ; 
O'er his huge form and visage pale 
He wore a cap and shirt of mail, 
And leaned his large and wrinkled hand 
Upon the huge and sweeping brand 
Which wont of yore in battle fray 
His foeman's limbs to shred away. 
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray. 

He seemed as, from the tombs around 



Rising at judgment-day, 
Some giant Douglas may be found 

In all his old array; 
So pale his face, so huge his limb, 
So old his arms, his look so grim. 



XII. 

Then at the altar Wilton kneels, 
And Clare the spurs bound on his heels ; 
And think what next he must have felt 
At buckling of the falchion belt ! 

And judge how Clara changed her hue 
While fastening to her lover's side 
A friend, which, though in danger tried, 

He once had found untrue ! 
Then Douglas struck him with his blade: 
'Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid, 

I dub thee knight. 
Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir ! 
For king, for church, for lady fair. 

See that thou fight.' 
And Bishop Gawain, as he rose. 
Said : ' Wilton ! grieve not for thy woes, 

Disgrace, and trouble ; 
For He who honor best bestows 

May give thee double.' 
De Wilton sobbed, for sob he must: 
' Where'er I meet a Douglas, triist 

That Douglas is my brother ! " 
' Nay, nay,' old Angus said, ' not so ; 
To Surrey's camp thou now must go, 

Thy wrongs no longer smother. 
I have two sons in yonder field ; 




136 



SCOTT S POETICAL WORKS. 



And, if thou meet'st them under shield, 
Upon them bravely — do thy worst. 
And foul fall him that blenches first ! ' 

XIII. 

Not far advanced was morning day 
When Marmion did his troop array 

To Surrey's camp to ride ; 
He had safe-conduct for his band 
Beneath the royal seal and hand, 

And Douglas gave a guide. 
The ancient earl with stately grace 
Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
And whispered in an undertone, 
' Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown.' 
The train from out the castle drew, 
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : 

' Though something 1 might plain,' he 
said, 
' Of cold respect to stranger guest. 
Sent hither by your king's behest, 

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, 




Part we in friendship from your land, 
And, noble earl, receive my hand.' — 
But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 
' My manors, halls, and bowers shall still 
Be open at my sovereign's will 
To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 
My castles are my king's alone, 
From turret to foundation-stone — 
The hand of Douglas is his own, 
And never shall in friendly grasp 
The hand of such as Marmion clasp.' 



Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire 
And shook his very frame for ire, 



And — ' This to me ! ' he said, 
' An 't were not for thy hoary beard, 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
And first I tell thee, haughty peer. 
He who does England's message here. 
Although the meanest in her state, 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate ; 
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, 

Even in thy pitch of pride, 
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, — 
Nay, never look upon your lord. 
And lay your hands upon your sword, — 

I tell thee, thou 'rt defied ! 
And if thou saidst I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here. 
Lowland or Highland, far or near, 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! ' 
On the earl's cheek the flush of rage 
O'ercame the ashen hue of age : 
Fierce he broke forth, — ' And darest thou 
then 

To beard the lion in his den. 

The Douglas in his hall ? 
And hopest thou hence un- 
^ scathed to go? — 

No, by Saint Bride of Both- 
well, no ! 
Up drawbridge, grooms — 
what, warder, ho ! 
Let the portcullis fall.' — 
'■. Lord Marmion turned, — well 

was his need, — 
And dashed the rowels in his 

steed. 
Like arrow through the arch- 
way sprung. 
The ponderous grate behind 

him rung ; 
To pass there was such scanty 

room. 
The bars descending razed his 
plume. 



The steed along the drawbridge flies 
Just as it trembled on the rise ; 
Not lighter does the swallow skim 
Along the smooth lake's level brim: 
And when Lord Marmion reached his 

band. 
He halts, and turns with clenched hand, 
And shout of loud defiance pours. 
And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 
' Horse ! horse ! ' the Douglas cried, ' and 

chase ! ' 
But soon he reined his fury's pace : 
' A royal messenger he came, 
Thojigli most unworthy of the name. — 



M ARM ION. 



^17 







iSl 



A letter forg^ed ! Saint Jude to speed ! 
Did ever knight so foul a deed ? 
At lirst in heart it liked me ill 
When the king praised his clerkly skill. 
Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine, 
Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line ; 



So swore 1, and I swear it still, 
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill. — 
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! 
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 
I thought to slay him where he stood. 
'T is pity of him too,' he cried : 



138 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' Bold can he speak and fairly ride. 
I warrant him a warrior tried.' 
With this his mandate he recalls, 
And slowly seeks his castle halls. 

XVI. 

The day in Marmion's journey wore ; 

Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er. 

They crossed the heights of Stanrig-moor. 

His troop more closely there he scanned, 

And missed the Palmer from the band. 

' Palmer or not,' young Blount did say, 

' He parted at the peep of day ; 

Good sooth, it was in strange array.' 

' In what array?' said Marmion quick. 

' My lord, I ill can spell the trick ; 

But all night long with clink and bang 

Close to my couch did hammers clang ; 

At dawn the falling drawbridge rang. 

And from a loophole while I peep, 

Old Bell-the-Cat came from the keep, 

Wrapped in a gown of sables fair, 

As fearful of tlie morning air ; 

Beneath, when that was blown aside, 

A rusty shirt of mail I spied. 

By Archibald won in bloody work 

Against the Saracen and Turk : 

Last night it hung not in the hall ; 

I thought some marvel would befall. 

And next I saw them saddled lead 

Old Cheviot forth, the earl's best steed, 

A matchless horse, though something old. 

Prompt in his paces, cool and bold. 

I heard the Sheriff Sholto say 

The earl did much the Master pray 

To use him on the battle-day. 

But he preferred ' — ' Nay, Henry, cease ! 

Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace. — 

Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — I pray. 

What did Blount see at break of day ? ' — • 



' In brief, my lord, we both descried — 
¥or then I stood by Henry's side — 
The Palmer mount and outwards ride 

Upon the earl's own favorite steed. 
All sheathed he was in armor bright, * 
And much resembled that same knight 
Subdued by you in Cotswold fight ; 

Lord Angus wished him speed.' — 
The instant that Fitz-Eustace spoke, 
A sudden light on Marmion broke : — 
' Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost ! ' 
He muttered ; ' 'T was nor fay nor ghost 
I met upon the moonlight wold, 
But living man of earthly mould. — 

O dotage blind and gross ! 
Had I but fought as wont, one thrust 
Had laid De Wilton in the dust. 

My path no more to cross. — 



How stand we now ? — he told his tale 
To Douglas, and with some avail ; 

'T was therefore gloomed his rugged 
brow. — 
Will Surrey dare to entertain 
'Gainst Marmion charge disproved and 
vain ? 

Small risk of that, I trow. 
Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun. 
Must separate Constance from the nun — 
Oh ! what a tangled web we wea\'e 
When first we practise to deceive ! 
A Palmer too ! — no wonder why 
I felt rebuked beneath his eye : 
I might have known there was but one 
Whose look could quell Lord Marmion.' 



Stung with these thoughts, he urged to 

speed 
His troop, and reached at eve the Tweed, 
Where Lennel's convent closed their marcli. 
There now is left but one frail arch. 

Yet mourn thou not its cells ; 
Our time a fair exchange has made : 
Hard by, in hospitable shade, 

A reverend pilgrim dwells. 
Well worth the whole Bernardine brood 
That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood.- — 
Yet did Saint Bernard's abbot there 
Give Marmion entertainment fair. 
And lodging for his train and Clare. 
Next morn the baron climbed the tower. 
To view afar the Scottish power. 

Encamped on Flodden edge ; 
The white pavilions made a show 
Like remnants of the winter snow 

Along the dusky ridge. 
Long Marmion looked : — at length his eye 
Unusual movement might descry 

Amid the shifting lines ; 
The Scottish host drawn out appears. 
For, flashing on the hedge of spears, 

The eastern sunbeam shines. 
Their front now deepening, now extending. 
Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending. 
Now drawing back, and now descending, 
The skilful Marmion well coidd know 
They watched the motions of some foe 
Who traversed on the plain below. 

XIX. 

Even so it was. From Flodden ridge 
The Scots beheld the English host 
Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post. 
And heedful watched them as they crossed 

The Till by Twisel Bridge. 

High sight it is and haughty, while 
They dive into the deep defile ; 
Beneath the caverned cliff they fall. 



MARMION. 



139 



Beneath the castle's airy wall. 
By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree, 

Troop after troop are disappearing; 

Troop after troop their banners rearing 
Upon the eastern bank you see ; 
Still pouring down the rocky den 

Where flows the sullen Till, 
And rising from the dim-wood glen, 
Standards on standards, men on men. 

In slow succession still. 
And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch. 
And pressing on, in ceaseless march, 



And sees, between him and his land, 
Between him and Tweed's southern strand. 

His host Lord Surrey lead .'' 
What vails the vain knight-errant's brand .•" — 
O Douglas, for thy leading wand ! 

Fierce Randolph, for thy speed ! 
Oh ! for one hour of Wallace wight. 
Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight 
And cry, ' Saint Andrew and our ri<jiit ! ' 
Another sight had seen that morn, 
From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn, 
And Flodden had been Bannockbourne ! — 




To gain the opposing hill. 
That morn, to many a trumpet clang, 
Twisel ! thy rock's deep echo rang ; 
And many a chief of birth and rank. 
Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank. 
Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see 
In spring-tide bloom so lavishly. 
Had then from many an axe its doom, 
To give the marching columns room. 



And why stands Scotland idly now, 
Dark Flodden ! on thy airy brow. 
Since England gains the pass the while, 
And struggles through the deep defile ? 
What checks the fiery soul of James ? 
Why sits that champion of the dames 
Inactive on his steed. 



The precious hour has passed in vain. 
And England's host has gained the plain, 
Wheeling their march and circling still 
Around the base of Flodden hill. 



Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye, 
Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high, 
' Hark! hark ! my lord, an English drum 1 
And see ascending squadrons come 

Between Tweed's river and the hill. 
Foot, horse, and cannon ! Hap what hap, 
My basnet to a prentice cap, 

Lord Surrey 's o'er the Till ! — 
Yet more ! yet more ! — how fair arrayed 
They file from out the hawthorn shade, 

And sweep so gallant by ! 
With all their banners bravely spread, 



140 



SCOTT'S P OTITIC A L WORKS. 



And all their armor flashing high, 
Saint George might waken from the dead, 

To see fair England's standards fly.' — 
' Stint in thy prate,' quoth Blount, ' thou 'dst 

best, 
And listen to our lord's behest.' — 
With kindling brow Lord Marmion said, 
• This instant be our band arrayed ; 
The river must be quickly crossed. 
That we may join Lord Surrey's host. 
If fight King James, — as well I trust 
That fight he will, and fight he must, — 
The Lady Clare behind our lines 
Shall tarry while the battle joins.' 

XXII. 

Himself he swift on horseback threw, 
Scarce to the abbot bade adieu, 
Far less would listen to his prayer 
To leave behind the helpless Clare. 
Down to the Tweed his band he drew, 
And muttered as the fiood they view, 
' The pheasant in the falcon's claw, 
He scarce will yield to please a daw; 
Lord Angus may the abbot awe. 

So Clare shall bide with me.' 
Then on that dangerous ford and deep 
Where to the Tweed Leaf's eddies creep 

He ventured desperately : 
And not a moment will he bide 
Till squire or groom before him ride; 
Headmost of all he stems the tide. 

And stems it gallantly. 
Eustace held Clare upon her horse, 

Old Hubert led her rein. 
Stoutly they braved the current's course, 
And, though far downward driven perforce, 

The southern bank they gain. 




Behind them straggling came to shore. 

As best they might, the train : 
Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore, 

A caution not in vain ; 
Deep need that day that every string. 
By wet unharmed, should sharply ring. 
A moment then Lord Marmion stayed. 
And breathed his steed, his men arrayed. 

Then forward moved his band, 
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won, 
He halted by a cross of stone. 
That on a hillock standing lone 

Did all the field command. 



Hence might they see the full array 
Of either host for deadly fray ; 
Their marshalled lines stretched east and 
west, 
And fronted north and south. 
And distant salutation passed 

From the loud cannon mouth ; 
Not in the close successive rattle 
That breathes the voice of modern battle. 

But slow and far between. 
The hillock gained. Lord Marmion stayed : 
'Here, by this cross,' he gently said, 

' You well may view the scene. 
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare : 
Oh ! think of Marmion in thy prayer! — 
Thou wilt not? — well, no less my care 
Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. — 
You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard. 

With ten picked archers of my train ; 
With England if the day go hard. 

To Berwick speed amain. — 
But if we conquer, cruel maid. 
My spoils shall at your feet be laid. 

When here we meet again.' 
He waited not for answer there, 
And would not mark the maid's despair, 

Nor heed the discontent- 
ed look 
From either squire, but 

spurred amain. 
And, dashing through the 
battle-plain. 
His way to Surrey took. 



XXIV. 
'The good Lord Marmion, 
by my life ! 
Welcome to danger's 
hour ! — 
Short greeting serves in 
time of strife. — 
Thus have I ranged my 
power : 
Myself will rule this cen- 
tral host, 



M ARM I ON. 



141 







Stout Stanley fronts their right, 
My sons command the vaward post, 

With Brian Tiinstall, stainless knight ; 

Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light, 

Shall be in rearward of the fight, 
And succor those that need it most. 

Now, gallant Marmion, well I know, 

Would gladly to the vanguard go ; 
Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there. 
With thee their charge will blithely share 
There fight thine own retainers too 
Beneath De Burg, thy steward true.' 
' Thanks, noble Surrey ! ' Marmion said, 
Nor further greeting there he paid, 
But, parting like a thunderbolt. 
First in the vanguard made a halt, 

Where such a shout there rose 
Of ' Marmion ! Marmion ! ' that the cry, 
Up Flodden mountain shrilling high, 

Startled the Scottish foes. 



Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still 
With Lady Clare upon the hill. 
On which — for far the day was spent — 
The western sunbeams now were bent ; 
The cry they heard, its meaning knew, 
Could plain their distant comrades view : 
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 
' Unworthy office here to stay ! 
No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 
But see ! look up — on Flodden bent 
The Scottish foe has fired his tent.' 



And sudden, as he spoke. 
From the sharp ridges of the hill, 
All downward to the banks of Till, 

Was wreathed in sable smoke. 
Volumed and vast, and rolling far, 
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war 

As down the hill they broke ; 
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone. 
Announced their march ; their tread alone, 
At times one warning trumpet blown, 

At times a stifled hum. 
Told England, from his mountain-throne 

King James did rushing come. 
Scarce could they hear or see their foes 
Until at weapon-point they close. — 
They close in clouds of smoke and dust. 
With sword-sway and with lance's thrust; 

And such a yell was there. 
Of sudden and portentous birth. 
As if men fought upon the earth. 

And fiends in upper air; 
Oh ! life and death were in the shout. 
Recoil and rally, charge and rout, 

And triumph and despair. 
Long looked the anxious squires ; their eye 
Could in the darkness nought descry. 



At length the freshening western blast 
Aside the shroud of battle cast ; 
And first the ridge of mingled spears 
Above the brightening cloud appears, 
And in the smoke the pennons flew. 



142 



scorrs poetical works. 



As in the storm the white seamew. 

Then marked they, dashing broad and far, 

The broken billows of the war, 

And plumed crests of chieftains brave 

Floating like foam upon the wave ; 

But nought distinct they see : 
Wide raged the battle on the plain ; 
Spears shook and falchions flashed amain ; 
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain ; 
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again, 

Wild and disorderly. 
Amid the scene of tumult, high 
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly; 
And stainless Tunstall's banner white, 
And Edmund Howard's lion bright, 
Still bear them bravely in the fight, 

Although against them come 
Of gallant Gordons many a one. 
And many a stubborn Badenoch-man, 
And many a rugged Border clan, 

With Huntly and with Home. 

XXVII. 

Far on the left, unseen the while, 
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle, 
Though there the western mountaineer 
Rushed with bare bosom on the spear, 
And flung the feeble targe aside. 
And with both hands the broadsword plied. 
'T was vain. — But Fortune, on the right. 
With fickle smile cheered Scotland's fight. 
Then fell that spotless banner white. 

The Howard's lion fell : 
Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew 
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew 

Around the battle-yell. 
The Border slogan rent the sky ! 
A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry : 

Loud were the clanging blows ; 
Advanced, — forced back, — now low, now 
high, 

The pennon sunk and rose; 
As bends the bark's-mast in the gale, 
When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail. 

It wavered mid the foes. 
No longer Blount the view could bear : 
' By heaven and all its saints ! I swear 

I will not see it lost ! 
Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare 
May bid your beads and patter prayer, — 

I gallop to the host.' 
And to the fray he rode amain, 
Followed by all the archer train. 
The fiery youth, with desperate charge, 
Made for a space an opening large, — 

The rescued banner rose, — 
But darkly closed the war around. 
Like pine-tree rooted from the ground 

It sank among the foes. 
Then Eustace mounted too, — yet stayed. 



As loath to leave the helpless maid, 

When, fast as shaft can fly. 
Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils spread, 
The. loose rein dangling from his head. 
Housing and saddle bloody red. 

Lord Marmion's steed rushed by ; 
And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 
A look and sign to Clara cast 
To mark he would return in haste. 
Then plunged into the fight. 



Ask me not what the maiden feels. 
Left in that dreadful hour alone : 

Perchance her reason stoops or reels ; 
Perchance a courage, not her own. 
Braces her mind to desperate tone. — 

The scattered van of England wheels ; — 
She only said, as loud in air 
The tumult roared, ' Is Wilton there.'*' — 
They fly, or, maddened by despair. 
Fight but to die, — ' Is Wilton there .? ' 

With that, straight up the hill there rode 
Two horsemen drenched with gore, 

And in their arms, a helpless load, 
A wounded knight they bore. 

His hand still strained the broken brand ; 

His arms were smeared with blood and 
sand. 

Dragged from among the horses' feet. 

With dinted shield and helmet beat. 

The falcon-crest and plumage gone. 

Can that be haughty Mannion ! . . . 

Young Blount his armor did unlace. 

And, gazing on his ghastly face. 
Said, ' By Saint George, he 's gone ! 

That spear-wound has our master sped. 

And see the deep cut on his head ! 
Good-night to Marmion.' — 

' Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling cease : 

He opes his eyes,' said Eustace; 'peace ! ' 



When, doffed his casque, he felt free air. 

Around gan Marmion wildly stare : 

' Where 's Harry Blount ? Fitz-Eustace 

where ? 
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ! 
Redeem my pennon, • — charge again ! 
Cry, " Marmion to the rescue ! ' — Vain ! 
Last of my race, on battle-plain 
That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! — 
Yet my last thought is England's — fly, 

To Dacre bear my signet-ring; 

Tell him his squadrons up to bring. — 
Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie : 

Tunstall lies dead upon the field. 

His lifeblood stains the spotless shield; 

Edmund is down ; my life is reft ; 

The Admiral alone is left. 



HARM I ON. 



143 




-*£°^^ 




Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — 
With Chester charge, and Lancashire, 
Full upon Scotland's central host. 
Or victory and England 's lost. — 
Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! 
fly ! — 



Leave Marmion here alone — to die.' 

They parted, and alone he lay ; 

Clare drew her from the sight away, 
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan, 
And half he murmured, ' Is there none 

Of all my halls have nurst, 



144 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring 
Of blessed water from tlie spring, 
To slake my dying thirst ! ' 



Woman ! in our hours of ease 
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please. 
And variable as the shade 

By the light quivering aspen made ; 
When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
A ministering angel thou ! — 
Scarce were the piteous accents said. 
When with the baron's casque the maid 

To the nigh streamlet ran : 
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears ; 
The plaintive voice alone she hears. 

Sees but the dying man. 
She stooped her by the runnel's side, 

But in abhorrence backward drew ; 
For, oozing from the mountain's side 
Where raged the war, a dark-red tide 

Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 
Where shall she turn ? — behold her mark 

A little fountain cell, 
Where water, clear as diamond-spark. 

In a stone basin fell. 
Above, some half-worn letters say, 
JBrinfe. fajearg. pilgrim, tirink. anti. prag. 
JTor. tfje. IttnU. soul. of. Sibul. (ffrrcg. 

2l2Si)0. built, tijis. cross, anti. hiEll. 
She filled the helm and back she hied, 
And witli surprise and joy espied 

A monk supporting Marmion's head ; 
A pious man, whom duty brought 
To dubious verge of battle fought. 

To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. 

XXXI. 

Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave. 
And, as she stooped his brow to lave — 
' Is it the hand of Clare,' he said, 
' Or injured Constance, bathes my head .■' ' 

Then, as remembrance rose, — 
' Speak not to me of shrift or prayer ! 

I must redress her woes. 
Short space, few words, are mine to spare ; 
Forgive and listen, gentle Clare ! ' — 

' Alas ! ' she said, ' the while, — 
Oh ! think of your immortal weal ! 
In vain for Constance is your zeal ; 

She — died at Holy Isle.' — 
Lord Marmion started from the ground 
As light as if he felt no wound. 
Though in the action burst the tide 
In torrents from his wounded side. 
' Then it was truth,' he said — ' I knew 
That the dark presage must be true. — 

1 would the Fiend, to whom belongs 
The vengeance due to all iier wrongs, 

Would spare me but a day ! 



For wasting fire, and dying groan. 
And priests slain on the altar stone. 

Might bribe him for delay. 
It may not be ! — this dizzy trance — 
Curse on yon base marauder's lance, 
And doubly cursed my failing brand ! 
A sinful heart makes feeble hand.' 
Then fainting down on earth he sunk. 
Supported by the trembling monk. 



With fruitless labor Clara bound 

And strove to stanch the gushing wound ; 

The monk with unavailing cares 

Exhausted all the Church's prayers. 

Ever, he said, that, close and near, 

A lady's voice was in his ear, 

And that the priest he could not hear : 

For that she ever sung, 
' In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, 
Where mingles luar's rattle with groans of 
the dying ! ' 

So the notes rung. — 
' Avoid thee. Fiend ! — with cruel hand 
Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! — 
Oh ! look, my son, upon yon sign 
Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 

Oh ! think on faith and bliss ! — 
By many a death-bed I have been. 
And many a sinner's parting seen, 

But never aught like this.' — 
The war, that for a space did fail. 
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale. 

And ' Stanley ! ' was the cry. — 
A light on Marmion's visage spread, 

And fired his glazing eye ; 
With dying hand above his head 
He shook the fragment of his blade. 

And shouted ' Victory ! — 
Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on ! ' 
Were the last words of Marmion. 

XXXIII. 

By this, though deep the evening fell. 
Still rose the battle's deadly swell. 
For still the Scots around their king, 
Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. 
Where 's now their victor vaward wing, 

Where Huntly, and where Home .^ — 
Oh ! for a blast of that dread horn. 
On Fontarabian echoes borne. 

That to King Charles did come, 
When Rowland brave, and Olivier, 
And every paladin and peer, 

On Roncesvalles died ! 
Such blasts might warn them, not in vain, 
To quit the plunder of the slain 
And turn the doubtful day again, 

While yet on Flodden side 



M ARM ION. 



145 




Afar the Royal Standard flies, 

And round it toils and bleeds and dies 

Our Caledonian pride ! 
In vain the wish — for far away, 
While spoil and havoc mark their way, 
Near Sibyl's Cross the plunderers stray. — 
' O lady,' cried the monk, ' away ! ' 

And placed her on her steed, 
And led her to the chapel fair 

Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. 
There all the night they spent in prayer. 
And at the dawn of morning there 
She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare. 



But as they left the darkening heath 
More desperate grew the strife of death. 
The English shafts in volleys hailed, 
In headlong charge their horse assailed ; 
Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep 
To break the Scottish circle deep 
That fought around their king. 
But yet, though thick the shafts as snow. 
Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, 
Though billmen ply the ghastly blow, 



Unbroken was the ring : 
The stubborn spearmen still made good 
Their dark impenetrable wood, 
Each stepping where his comrade stood 

The instant that he fell. 
No thought was there of dastard flight ; 
Linked in the serried phalanx tight, 
Groom fought like noble, squire like knight. 

As fearlessly and well. 
Till utter darkness closed her wing 
O'er their thin host and wounded king. 
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands 
Led back from strife his shattered bands ; 

And from the charge they drew. 
As mountain-waves from wasted lands 

Sweep back to ocean blue. 
Then did their loss his foemen know ; 
Their king, their lords, their mightiest low. 
They melted from the field, as snow. 
When streams are swoln and south winds 
blow, 

Dissolves in silent dew. 
Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, 

While many a broken band 
Disordered through her currents dash, 

To gain the Scottish land ; 



146 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



To town and tower, to clown and dale, 
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale, 
And raise the universal wail. 
Tradition, legend, tune, and song 
Shall many an age that wail prolong ; 
Still from the sire the son shall hear 
Of the stern strife and carnage drear 

Of Flodden's fatal field. 
Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear 

And broken was her shield ! 

XXXV. 

Day dawns upon the mountain's side. — 
There, Scotland ! lay thy bravest pride. 
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one : 
The sad survivors all are gone. — ; 
View not that corpse mistrustfully. 
Defaced and mangled though it be ; 
Nor to- yon Border castle high 
Look northward with upbraiding eye ; 

Nor cherish hope in vain 
That, journeying far on foreign strand, 
The Royal Pilgrim to his land 

May yet return again. 
He saw the wreck his rashness wrought ; 
Reckless of life, he desperate fought, 

And fell on Flodden plain : 
And well in death his trusty brand. 
Firm clenched within his manly hand, 

Beseemed the monarch slain. 
But oh ! how changed since yon blithe 

night ! — • 
Gladly I turn me from the sight 

Unto my tale again. 



Short is my tale: — Fitz-Eustace' care 

A pierced and mangled body bare 

To moated Lichfield's lofty pile ; 

And there, beneath the southern aisle, 

A tomb with Gothic sculpture fair 

Did long Lord Marmion's image bear. — 

Now vainly for its site you look ; 

'T was levelled when fanatic Brook 

The fair cathedral stormed and took, 

But, thanks to Heaven and good Saint Chad, 

A guerdon meet the spoiler had ! — 

There erst was martial Marmion found, 

His feet upon a couchant hound. 

His hands to heaven upraised ; 
And all around, on scutcheon rich. 
And tablet carved, and fretted niche, 

His arms and feats were blazed. 
And yet, though all was carved so fair. 
And priest for Marmion breathed the prayer, 
The last Lord Marmion lay not there. 
From Ettrick woods a peasant swain 
Followed his lord to Flodden plain, — 
One of those flowers whom plaintive lay 
In Scotland mourns as ' wede away : ' 



Sore wounded, Sibyl's Cross he spied, 
And dragged him to its foot, and died 
Close by the noble Marmion's side. 
The spoilers stripped and gashed the slain. 
And thus their corpses were mista'en ; 
And thus in the proud baron's tomb 
The lowly woodsman took the room. 



Less easy task it were to show 

Lord Marmion's nameless grave and low. 

They dug his grave e'en where he lay. 

But every mark is gone : 
Time's wasting hand has clone away 
The simple Cross of Sibyl Grey, 

And broke her font of stone ; 
But yet from out the little hill 
Oozes the slender springlet still. 

Oft halts the stranger there. 
For thence may best his curious eye 
The memorable field descry ; 

And shepherd boys repair 
To seek the water-flag and rush, 
And rest them by the hazel bush. 

And plait their garlands fair. 
Nor dream they sit upon the grave 
That holds the bones of Marmion brave. — 
When thou shalt find the little hill, 
With thy heart commune and be still. 
If ever in temptation strong 
Thou left'st the right path for the wrong, 
If every devious step thus trod 
Still led thee further from the road, 
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom 
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb ; 
But say, ' He died a gallant knight. 
With sword in hand, for England's right.' 

XXXVIII. 

I do not rhyme to that dull elf 

Who cannot image to himself 

That all through Flodden's dismal night 

Wilton was foremost in the fight. 

That when brave Surrey's steed was slain 

"T was Wilton mounted him again : 

'T was Wilton's brand that deepest hewed 

Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood : 

Unnamed by Holinshed or Hall, 

He was the living soul of all ; 

That, after fight, his faith made plain. 

He won his rank and lands again. 

And charged his old paternal shield 

With bearings won on Flodden Field. 

Nor sing I to that simple maid 

To whom it must in terms be said 

That king and kinsmen did agree 

To bless fair Clara's constancy ; 

Who cannot, unless I relate. 

Paint to her mind the bridal's state, — 



MARMION. 



147 



That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke, 
More, Sands, and Denny, passed the joke ; 
That bluff King Hal the curtain drew, • 
And Katherine's hand the stocking threw ; 
And afterwards, for many a day, 
That it was held enough to say, 
In blessing to a wedded pair, 
' Love they like Wilton and like Clare ! ' 



L'ENVOY. 

TO THE READER. 

Why then a final note prolong. 
Or lengthen out a closing song. 
Unless to bid the gentles speed, 



Who long have listed to my rede ? 

To statesmen grave, if such may deign 

To read the minstrel's idle strain, 

Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit, 

And patriotic heart — as Pitt ! 

A garland for the hero's crest. 

And twined by her he loves the best ! 

To every lovely lady bright. 

What can I wish but faithful knight ? 

To every faithful lover too, 

What can I wish but lady true ? 

And knowledge to the studious sage. 

And pillow soft to head of age ! 

To thee, dear school-boy, whom my lay 

Has cheated of thy hour of play. 

Light task and merry holiday ! 

To all, to each, a fair good-night. 

And pleasing clreams, and slumbers light ! 







^i 

















THE MDT I 



ortHeMKE 





-""^ -^N Ax XV'JP^-' " -1 V^-' 



CijE 3LaD5 of tt)e ?Lafee 



TO 
THE MOST NOBLE 

JOHN JAMES, MARQUIS OF ABERCORN, 

&c., &c., &c., 

THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



ARGUMENT. 



The scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch Katrine, in the Western Highlands of Perth- 
shire. The time of Action includes Six Days, and the transactions of each Day occupy a Canto. 



E^z ULatig of tj^c ILafee. 

CANTO FIRST. 
THE CHASE. 

Harp of the North ! that mouldering long 
hast hung 
On the witch-elm that shades Saint 
Fillan's spring, 
And down the fitful breeze thy numbers 
flung, 
Till envious ivy did around thee cling, 
Muffling with verdant ringlet every string, — 
O Minstrel Harp, still must thine accents 
sleep ? 
Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmur- 
ing, 
Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence 
keep, 
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid 
to weep ? 

Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon, 
Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd. 



When lay of hopeless love, or glory won, 

Aroused the fearful or subdued the proud. 
At each according pause was heard aloud 

Thine ardent symphony sublime and high ! 
Fair dames and crested chiefs attention 
bowed ; 
For still the burden of thy minstrelsy 
Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and 
Beauty's matchless eye. 

O, wake once more ! how rude soe'er the 
hand 
That ventures o'er thy magic maze to 
stray ; 
O, wake once more ! though scarce my skill 
command 
Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay : 
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die 
away. 
And all unworthy of thy nobler strain, 
Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway, 
The wizard note has not been touched 
in vain. 
Then silent be no more ! Enchantress, 
wake again ! 



152 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




The stag at eve had drunk his fill, 
Where danced the moon on Rlonan's rill. 
And deep his midnight lair had made 
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade; 
But when the sun his beacon red 
Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head, 



The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay 
Resounded up the rocky way, 
And faint, from farther distance borne, 
Were heard the clano-ing hoof and horn. 



As Chief, who hears his warder call, 
' To arms ! the foemen storm the wall,' 
The antlered monarch of the waste 
Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. 
Ikit ere his fleet career he took, 
The dew-drops from his flanks he shook; 
Like crested leader proud and high 
Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky ; 
A moment gazed adown the dale, 
A moment snuffed the tainted gale, 
A moment listened to the cry, 



That thickened as the chase drew nigh ; 
Then, as the headmost foes appeared, 
With one brave bound the copse he cleared. 
And, stretching foi"ward free and far, 
Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 



Yelled on the view the opening pack ; 
Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back ; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
The awakened mountain gave response. 
A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong, 
Clattered a hundred steeds along, 
Their peal the merry horns rung out, 
A hundred voices joined the shout ; 
With hark and whoop and wild halloo, 
No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



153 



Far from the tumult fled the roe, 
Close in her covert cowered the doe, 
The falcon, from her cairn on high. 
Cast on the rout a wondering eye, 
Till far beyond her piercing ken 
The hurricane had swept the glen. 
Faint, and more faint, its failing din 
Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn, 
And silence settled, wide and still. 
On the lone wood and mighty hill. 



Less loud the sounds of sylvan war 
Disturbed the heights of Uam-Var, 
And roused the cavern where, 't is told, 
A giant made his den of old ; 
For ere that steep ascent was won, 
High in his pathway hung the sun. 
And many a gallant, stayed perforce. 
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse. 
And of the trackers of the deer 
Scarce half the lessening pack was near 
So shrewdly on the mountain-side 
Had the bold burst their mettle tried. 



The noble stag was pausing now 
Upon the mountain's southern brow, 
Where broad extended, far beneath. 
The varied realms of fair Menteith. 
With anxious eye he wandered o'er 
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor. 
And pondered refuge from his toil, 
By far Lochard or Aberfoyle. 
But nearer was the copsewood gray 
That waved and wept on Loch Achray, 



And mingled with the pine-trees blue 
On the bold cliffs of Benvenue. 
Fresh vigor with the hope returned. 
With flying foot the heath he spurned, 
Held westward with unwearied race. 
And left behind the panting chase. 



'T were long to tell what steeds gave o'er. 
As swept the hunt through Cambusmore ; 
What reins were tightened in despair. 
When rose Benledi's ridge in air ; 
Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath, 
Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith, — 
For twice that day, from shore to shore. 
The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er. 
Few were the stragglers, following far. 
That reached the lake of Vennachar ; 
And when the Brigg of Turk was won. 
The headmost horseman rode alone. 



Alone, but with unbated zeal. 
That horseman plied the scourge and steel ; 
For jaded now, and spent with toil. 
Embossed with foam, and dark with soil, 
While every gasp with sobs he drew. 
The laboring stag strained full in view. 
Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed. 
Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed, 
Fast on his flying traces came. 
And all but won that desperate game ; 
For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch. 
Vindictive toiled the bloodhounds stanch ; 
Nor nearer might the dogs attain. 
Nor farther might the quarry strain. 






^yW:^i^s^^^^'t^^*^^'' " ' 











^'^^^', 



154 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




Thus up the margin of the lake, 

Between the precipice and brake, 

O'er stock and rock their race they take. 



The Hunter marked that mountain high, 
The lone lake's western boundary. 
And deemed the stag must turn to bay. 
Where that huge rampart barred the way ; 
Already glorying in the prize, 
Measured his antlers with his eyes ; 
For the death-wound and death-halloo 
Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew : — 
But thundering as he came prepared, 
With ready arm and weapon bared, 
The wily quarry shunned the shock. 
And turned him from the opposing rock ; 
Then, dashing down a darksome glen. 
Soon lost to hound and Hunter's ken. 
In the deep Trosachs' wildest nook 
His solitary refuge took. 
There, while close couched the thicket shed 
Cold dews and wild flowers on his head, 
He heard the baflied dogs in vain 
Rave through the hollow pass amain, 
Chiding the rocks that yelled again. 



Close on the hovmds the Hunter came, 
To cheer them on the vanished game ; 
But, stumbling in the rugged dell, 
The gallant horse exhausted fell. 
The impatient rider strove in vain 
To rouse him with the spur and rein, 



For the good steed, his labors o'er. 
Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more ; 
Then, touched with pity and remorse. 
He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse. 
' I little thought, when first thy rein 
I slacked upon the banks of Seine, 
That Highland eagle e'er should feed 
On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! 
Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day. 
That costs thy life, my gallant gray ! ' 



Then through the dell his horn resounds, 
From vain pursuit to call the hounds. 
Back limped, with slow and crippled pace, 
The sulky leaders of the chase; 
Close to their master's side they pressed, 
With drooping tail and humbled crest ; 
But still the dingle's hollow throat 
Prolonged the swelling bugle-note. 
The owlets started from their dream, 
The eagles answered with their scream. 
Round and around the sounds were cast, 
Till echo seemed an answering blast ; 
And on the Hunter hied his way. 
To join some comrades of the day. 
Yet often paused, so strange the road, 
So wondrous were the scenes it showed. 



The western waves of ebbing da}' 
Rolled o'er the glen tlieir level way : 
Each purple peak, each flinty spire. 
Was bathed in floods t)f living fire. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



155 




But not a setting beam could glow 

Within the dark ravines below, 

Where twined the path in shadow hid. 

Round many a rocky pyramid, 

Shooting abruptly from the dell 

Its thunder-splintered pinnacle ; 

Round many an insulated mass. 

The native bulwarks of the pass, 

Huge as the tower which builders vain 

Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. 

The rocky summits, split and rent. 

Formed turret, dome, or battlement, 

Or seemed fantastically set 

With cupola or minaret, 

Wild crests as pagod ever decked, 

Or mosque of Eastern architect. 

Nor were these earth-born castles bare, 

Nor lacked they many a banner fair; 

For, from their shivered brows displayed, 

Far o'er the unfathomable glade, 

All twinkling with the dewdrop sheen, 

The brier-rose fell in streamers green. 






And creeping shrubs of thousand dyes 
Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs. 



Boon nature scattered, free and wila. 
Each plant or flower, the mountain's child. 
Here eglantine embalmed the air, 
Hawthorn and hazel mingled there ; 
The primrose pale and violet flower 
Found in each clift a narrow bower; 
Foxglove and nightshade, side by side, 
Emblems of punishment and pride, 







1^6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Grouped their dark hues with every stain 
The weather-beaten crags retain. 
With boughs that quaked at every breath, 
Gray birch and aspen wept beneath ; 
Aloft; the ash and warrior oak 
Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 
And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung 
His shattered trunk, and frequent flung, 
Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, 
His boughs athwart the narrowed sky. 
Highest of all, where white peaks glanced. 
Where glistening streamers waved and 

danced. 
The wanderer's eye could barely view 
The summer heaven's delicious blue ; 
So wondrous wild, the whole might seem 
The scenery of a fairy dream. 



Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep 
A narrow inlet, still and deep. 
Affording scarce such breadth of brim 
As served the wild duck's brood to swim. 
Lost for a space, through thickets veering. 
But broader when again appearing. 
Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face 
Could on the dark-blue mirror trace ; 
And farther as the Hunter strayed. 
Still broader sweep its channels made. 



The shaggy mounds no longer stood. 
Emerging from entangled wood. 
But, wave-encircled, seemed to float. 
Like castle girdled with its moat; 
Yet broader floods extending still 
Divide them from their parent hill, 
Till each, retiring, claims to be 
An islet in an inland sea. 



And now, to issue from the glen, 
No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, 
Unless he climb with footing nice 
A far-projecting precipice. 
The broom's tough roots his ladder made, 
The hazel saplings lent their aid ; 
And thus an airy point he won. 
Where, gleaming with the setting sun, 
One burnished sheet of living gold, 
Loch Katrine lay beneath him rolled, 
In all her length far winding lay. 
With promontory, creek, and bay, 
And islands that, empurpled bright. 
Floated amid the livelier light. 
And mountains that like giants stand 
To sentinel enchanted land. 
High on the south, huge Benvenue 
Down to the lake in masses threw 
Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly 
hurled, 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



157 



&=. 



^r^'=^ 




The fragments of an earlier world ; 
A wildering forest feathered o'er 
His ruined sides and summit hoar, 
While on the north, through middle air, 
Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare. 



From the steep promontory gazed 

The stranger, raptured and amazed, 

And, ' What a scene were here,' he cried, 

' For princely pomp or churchman's pride ! 

On this bold brow, a lordly tower ; 

In that soft vale, a lady's bower ; 

On yonder meadow far away. 

The turrets of a cloister gray ; 

How blithely might the bugle-horn 

Chide on the lake the lingering morn 

How sweet at eve the lover's lute 

Chime when the groves were still and mute ! 

And when the midnight moon should lave 

Her forehead in the silver wave, 

How solemn on the ear would come 

The holy matins' distant hum, 

While the deep peal's commanding tone 

Should wake, in yonder islet lone, 

A sainted hermit from his cell, 

To drop a bead with every knell ! 

And bugle, lute, and bell, and all, 



Should each bewildered stranger call 
To friendly feast and lighted hall. 



' Blithe were it then to wander here ! 
But now — beshrew yon nimble deer — 
Like that same hermit's, thin and spare, 
The copse must give my evening fare ; 
Some mossy bank my couch must be. 
Some rustling oak my canopy. 
Yet pass we that ; the war and chase 
Give little choice of resting-place ; — 
A summer night in greenwood spent 
Were but to-morrow's merriment : 
But hosts may in these wilds abound, 
Such as are better missed than found ; 
To meet with Highland plunderers here 
Were worse than loss of steed or deer. - 
I am alone ; — my bugle-strain 
May call some straggler of the train ; 
Or, fall the worst that may betide, 
Ere now this falchion has been tried.' 

XVII. 

But scarce again his horn he wound. 
When lo ! forth starting at the sound, 
From underneath an aged oak 
That slanted from the islet rock, 



158 



SCOT'J'S POETICAL WORKS. 




A damsel guider of its way, 

A little skiff shot to the bay. 

That round the promontory steep 

Led its deep line in graceful sweep, 

Eddying, in almost viewless wave, 

The weeping willow twig to lave, 

And kiss, with whispering sound and slow. 

The beach of pebbles bright as snow. 

The boat had touched this silver strand 

Just as the Hunter left his stand, 

And stood concealed amid the bi"ake. 

To view this Lady of the Lake. 

The maiden paused, as if again 



She thought to catch the distant strain. 

With head upraised, and look intent. 

And eye and ear attentive bent. 

And locks Hung back, and lips apart. 

Like monument of Grecian art. 

In listening mood, she seemed to stand, 

The guardian Naiad of the strand. 

XVIII. 

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 
A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, 
Of finer form or lovelier face ! 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



159 



^^gggsgssissssi^^^^^g^ps'j^f^^jfa^^ssiii^ 



E/ 







What though the sun, with ardent frown, 
Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown, — 
The sportive toil, which, short and light, 
Had dyed her glowing hue so bright. 
Served too in hastier swell to show 
Short glimpses of a breast of snow : 
What though no rule of courtly grace 
To measured mood had trained her pace, — 
A foot more light, a step more true, 
Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew ; 
E'en the slight harebell raised its head. 
Elastic from her airy tread : 
What though upon her speech there hung 



The accents of the mountain tongue. 
Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, 
The listener held his breath to hear ! 



A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid ; 

Her satin snood, her silken plaid. 

Her golden brooch, such birth betrayed. 

And seldom was a snood amid 

Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid. 

Whose glossy black to shame might bring 

The plumage of the raven's wing; 



i6o 



scorrs poetical works. 




And seldom o'er a breast so fair 
Mantled a plaid with modest care, 
And never brooch the folds combined 
Above a heart more good and kind. 
Her kindness and her worth to spy, 
You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; 
Not Katrine in her mirror blue 
Gives back the shaggy banks more true, 
Than every free-born glance confessed 
The guileless movements of her breast : 
Whether joy danced in her dark eye, 
Or woe or pity claimed a sigh, 



Or filial love was glowing there, 
Or meek devotion poured a prayer. 
Or tale of injury called forth 
The indignant spirit of the North. 
One only passion unrevealed 
With maiden pride the maid concealed, 
Yet not less purely felt the flame : — 
O, need I tell that passion's name ? 



Impatient of the silent horn, 

Now on the gale her voice was borne ; 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



i6i 




' Father ! ' she cried ; the rocks around 
Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 
Awhile she paused, no answer came ; — 
'Malcolm, was thine the blast ? ' the name 
Less resolutely uttered fell, 
The echoes could not catch the swell. 
' A stranger I,' the Huntsman said, 
Advancing from the hazel shade. 
The maid, alarmed, with hasty oar 
Pushed her light shallop from the shore. 
And when a space was gained between. 
Closer she drew her bosom's screen : — 
So forth the startled swan would swing. 
So turn to prune his ruffled wing. 
Then safe, though fluttered and amazed, 
She paused, and on the stranger gazed. 
Not his the form, nor his the eye, 
That youthful maidens wont to fly. 

XXI. 

On his bold visage middle age 
Had slightly pressed its signet sage, 
Yet had not c[uenched the open truth 



And fiery vehemence of youth ; 

Forward and frolic glee was there, 

The will to do, the soul to dare. 

The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, 

Of hasty love or headlong ire. 

His limbs were cast in manly mould 

For hardy sports or contest bold ; 

And though in peaceful garb arrayed. 

And weaponless except his blade. 

His stately mien as well implied 

A high-born heart, a martial pride, 

As if a baron's crest he wore. 

And sheathed in armor trode the shore. 

Slighting the petty need he showed, 

He told of his benighted road ; 

His ready speech flowed fair and free. 

In jDhrase of gentlest courtesj'. 

Yet seemed that tone and gesture bland 

Less used to sue than to command. 



Awhile the maid the stranger eyed. 
And, reassured, at length replied, 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



That Highland halls were open still 
To wildered wanderers of the hill. 
' Nor think yoti unexpected come 
To yon lone isle, our desert home ; 
Before the heath had lost the dew, 
This morn, a couch was pulled for you ; 
On yonder mountain's purple head 
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled. 
And our broad nets have swept the mere, 



' I well believe, that ne'er before 

Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's shore ; 

But yet, as far as yesternight. 

Old Allan-bane foretold your plight, — 

A gray-haired sire, whose eye intent 

Was on the visioned future bent. 

He saw your steed, a dappled gray. 

Lie dead beneath the birchen way ; 

Painted exact your form and mien. 




To furnish forth your evening cheer.' 
' Now, by the rood, my lovely maid, 
Your courtesy has erred,' he said ; 
' No right have I to claim, misplaced. 
The welcome of expected guest. 
A wanderer, here by fortune tost. 
My way, my friends, my courser lost, 
1 ne'er before, believe me, fair. 
Have ever drawn your mountain air, 
Till on this lake's romantic strand 
1 found a fay in fairy land ! ' — 



' I well believe,' the maid replied, 

As her light skiff approached the side. 



Your hunting-suit of Lincoln green. 
That tasselled horn so gayly gilt. 
That falchion's crooked blade and hilt, 
That cap with heron plumage trim. 
And yon two hounds so dark and grim. 
He bade that all should ready be 
To grace a guest of fair degree ; 
But light I held his prophecy, 
And deemed it was my father's horn 
Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne.' 

XXIV. 

The stranger smiled : — ' Since to your 

home 
A destined errant-knight I come, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



163 



Announced by prophet sooth and old, 

Doomed, doubtless, for achievement bold, 

I "11 lightly front each high emprise 

For one kind glance of those bright eyes. 

Permit me first the task to guide 

Your fairy frigate o'er the tide.' 

The maid, with smile suppressed and sly. 

The toil unwonted saw him try; 

For seldom, sure, if e'er before. 

His noble hand had grasped an oar : 

Yet with main strength his strokes he drew. 

And o'er the lake the shallop flew; 

With heads erect and whimpering cry, 



Here, for retreat in dangerous hour, 
Some chief had framed a rustic bower. 

XXVI. 

It was a lodge of ample size, 

But strange of structure and device ; 

Of such materials as around 

The workman's hand had readiest found. 

Lopped of their boughs, their hoar trunks 

bared. 
And by the hatchet rudely squared. 
To give the walls their destined height, 




The hounds behind their passage ply. 
Nor frequent does the bright oar break 
The darkening mirror of the lake, 
Until the rocky isle they reach. 
And moor their shallop on the beach. 



The stranger viewed the shore around ; 
'T was all so close with copsewood bound, 
Nor track nor pathway might declare 
That human foot frequented there, 
Until the mountain maiden showed 
A clambering unsuspected road, 
That winded through the tangled screen. 
And opened on a narrow green. 
Where weeping birch and willow round 
With their long fibres swept the ground. 



The sturdy oak and ash unite ; 

While moss and clay and leaves combined 

To fence each crevice from the wind. 

The lighter pine-trees overhead 

Their slender length for rafters spread, 

And withered heath and rushes dry 

Supplied a russet canopy. 

Due westward, fronting to the green, 

A rural portico was seen, 

Aloft on native pillars borne, 

Of mountain fir with bark unshorn, 

Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine 

The ivy and Idsan vine. 

The clematis, the favored flower 

Which boasts the name of virgin-bower, 

And every hardy plant could bear 

Loch Katrine'^ keen and searching air. 

An instant in this porch she stayed. 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




And gayly to the stranger said : 
"■ On heaven and on thy lady call, 
And enter the enchanted hall ! ' 



* My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, 
My gentle guide, in following thee ! ' — 
He crossed the threshold, — and a clang 
Of angry steel that instant rang. 
To his bold brow his spirit rushed, 
But soon for vain alarm he blushed. 
When on the floor he saw displayed. 
Cause of the din, a naked blade 
Dropped from the sheath, that careless flung 
Upon a stag's huge antlers swung ; 
For all around, the walls to grace, 
Hung trophies of the fight or chase : 
A target there, a bugle here, 
A battle-axe, a hunting-spear. 
And broadswords, bows, and arrows store, 
With the tusked trophies of the boan 
Here grins the wolf as when he died. 
And there the wild-cat's brindled hide 
The frontlet of the elk adorns, 
Or mantles o'er the bison's horns ; 



Pennons and flags defaced and stained. 
That blackening streaks of blood retained, 
And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and white. 
With otter's fur and seal's unite. 
In rude and uncouth tapestry all, 
To garnish forth the sylvan hall. 



The wondering stranger round him gazed, 

And next the fallen weapon raised : — 

Few were the arms whose sinewy strength 

Sufliced to stretch it forth at length. 

And as the brand he poised and swayed, 

' I never knew but one,' he said, 

' Whose stalwart arm might brook to wield 

A blade like this in battle-field.' 

She sighed, then smiled and took the word : 

' You see the guardian champion's sword ; 

As light it trembles in his hand 

As in my grasp a hazel wand : 

My sire's tall form might grace the part 

Of Ferragus or Ascabart, 

But in the absent giant's hold 

Are women now, and menials old.' 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



165 



-' "'1 f||.j 



I,|L-,|| 'IViMiri»!,|iil,^,^ iiif 




The mistress of the mansion came, 
Mature of age, a graceful dame, 
Whose easy step and stately port 
Had well become a princely court, 
To whom, though more than kindred knew. 
Young Ellen gave a mother's due. 
Meet welcome to her guest she made, 
And every courteous rite was paid, 
That hospitality could claim, 
Though all unasked his birth and name. 
Such then the reverence to a guest. 
That fellest foe might join the feast, 
And from his deadliest foeman's door 
Unquestioned turn, the banquet o'er. 
At length his rank the stranger names, 
' Tlie Knight of Sno^vdovm, James Fitz- 

James : 
Lord of a barren heritage. 
Which his brave sires, from age to age. 
By their good swords had held with toil ; 
His sire had fallen in such turmoil. 



And he, God wot, was forced to stand 
Oft for his right with blade in hand. 
This morning with Lord Moray's train 
He chased a stalwart stag in vain, 
Outstripped his comrades, missed the deer. 
Lost his good steed, and wandered here.' 



Fain would the Knight in turn require 
The name and state of Ellen's sire. 
Well showed the elder lady's mien 
That courts and cities she had seen ; 
Ellen, though more her looks displayed 
The simple grace of sylvan maid, 
In speech and gesture, form and face. 
Showed she was come of gentle race. 
'T were strange in ruder rank to find 
Such looks, such manners, and such mind. 
Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave. 
Dame Margaret heard with silence grave ; 
Or Ellen, innocently gay. 
Turned all inquiry light away : — 



1 66 



SCOTT S POETICAL WORKS. 



' Weird women we ! by dale and down 
We dwell, afar from tower and town. 
We stem the flood, we ride the blast. 
On wandering knights our spells we cast; 
While viewless minstrels touch the string, 
"T is thus our charmed rhymes we sing." 
She sung, and still a harp unseen 
Filled up the symphony between. 

XXXI. 

Song. 

' Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; 
Dream of battled fields no more. 

Days of danger, nights of waking. 



Ruder sounds shall none be near. 
Guards nor warders challenge here, 
Here 's no war-steed"s neigh and champing, 
Shouting clans or squadrons stamping.' 



She paused, — then, blushing, led the lay,' 

To grace the stranger of the day. 

Her mellow notes awhile prolong 

The cadence of the flowing song. 

Till to her lips in measured frame 

The minstrel verse spontaneous came. 

Song ffionttnueH. 
' Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done ; 
While our slumbrous spells assail ye, 




In our isle's enchanted hall, 

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing. 
Fairy strains of music fall, 

Every sense in slumber dewing. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 
Dream of fighting fields no more ; 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking. 
Morn of toil, nor night of waking. 

' No rude sound shall reach thine ear, 

Armor's clang of war-steed champing. 
Trump nor pibroch summon here 

Mustering clan or squadron tramping. 
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come 

At the daybreak from the fallow. 
And the bittern sound his drum. 

Booming from the sedgy shallow. 



Dream not, with the rising sun. 

Bugles here shall sound reveilld. 
Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; 
Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying: 
Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen 
How thy gallant steed lay dying. 
Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done : 
Think not of the rising sun, 
For at dawning to assail ye 
Here no bugles sound reveilld.' 



The hall was cleared, — the stranger's bed 
Was there of mountain heather spread. 
Where oft a hundred guests had lain. 
And dreamed their forest sports again. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



167 



But vainly did the heath-flower shed 
Its moorland fragrance round his head ; 
Not Ellen's spell had lulled to rest 
The fever of his troubled breast. 
In broken dreams the image rose 
Of varied perils, pains, and woes : 
His steed now flounders in the brake. 
Now sinks his barge upon the lake : 
Now leader of a broken host, 
His standard falls, his honor 's lost. 
Then, — from my couch may heavenly might 
Chase that worst phantom of the night ! — 
Again returned the scenes of youth, 
Of confident, undoubting truth ; 
Again his soul he interchanged 
With friends whose hearts were long es- 
tranged. 
They come, in dim procession led. 
The cold, the faithless, and the dead ; 
As warm each hand, each brow as gay. 
As if they parted yesterday. 
And doubt distracts him at the view, — 
O were his senses false or true.'' 
Dreamed he of death or broken vow, 
Or is it all a vision now? 



At length, with Ellen in a grove 

He seemed to walk and speak of love ; 

She listened with a blush and sigh, 

His suit was warm, his hopes were high. 

He sought her yielded hand to clasp. 

And a cold gauntlet met his grasp : 

The phantom's sex was changed and gone, 

Upon its head a helmet shone ; 

Slowly enlarged to giant size, 

With darkened cheek and threatening 

eyes, 
The grisly visage, stern and hoar. 
To Ellen still a likeness bore. — 
He woke, and, panting with affright. 
Recalled the vision of the night. 
The hearth's decaying brands were red, 
And deep and dusky lustre shed. 
Half showing, half concealing, all 
The uncouth trophies of the hall. 
Mid those the stranger fixed his eye 
Where that huge falchion hung on high, 
And thoughts on thoughts, a countless 

throng, 




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Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along. 

Until, the giddy whirl to cure, 

He rose and sought the moonshine pure. 

XXXV. 

The wild rose, eglantine, and broom 
Wasted around their rich perfume ; 
The birch-trees wept in fragrant balm ; 
The aspens slept beneath the calm ; 
The silver light, with quivering glance. 
Played on the water's still expanse, — 
Wild were the heart whose passion's swa\' 
Could rage beneath the sober ray ! 
He felt its calm, that warrior guest. 
While thus he communed with his breast : — 
'Why is it, at each turn I trace 



Some memory of that exiled race.'' 
Can I not mountain maiden spy, 
But she must bear the Douglas eye ? 
Can I not view a Highland brand, 
But it must match the Douglas hand .^ 
Can I not frame a fevered dream, 
But still the Douglas is the theme ? 
I '11 dream no more, — by manly mind 
Not even in sleep is will resigned. 
My midnight orisons said o'er, 
I '11 turn to rest, and dream no more.' 
His midnight orisons he told, 
A prayer with every bead of gold. 
Consigned to heaven his cares and woes. 
And sunk in undisturbed repose, 
Until the heath-cock shrilly crew\ 
And morning dawned on Benvenue. 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



169 




W\yz 3Latig of tj^e 3La{te. 



CANTO SECOND. 



THE ISLAND. 



At morn the black-cock trims his jetty wing, 
'T is morning prompts the linnet's blith- 
est lay, 
All Nature's children feel the matin spring 

Of life reviving, with reviving day ; 
And while yon little bark glides down the 
bay, 
Wafting the stranger on his way again, 
Morn's genial inflvxence roused a minstrel 
gray, 
And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy 
strain, 
Mixed with the sounding harp, O white- 
haired Allan-bane ! 



Song. 

' Not faster yonder rowers' might 
Flings from their oars the spray, 

Not faster yonder rippling bright. 

That tracks the shallop's course in light, 
Melts in the lake away. 

Than men from memory erase 

The benefits of former days ; 

Then, stranger, go ! good speed the while. 

Nor think again of the lonely isle. 

' High place to thee in royal court, 

High place in battled line. 
Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport ! 
Where beauty sees the brave resort, 

The honored meed be thine ! 
True be thy sword, thy friend sincere, 
Thy lady constant, kind, and dear. 
And lost in love's and friendship's smile 
Be memory of the lonely isle ! 



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scorrs poetical works. 



Song donttnurt. 

' But if beneath yon southern sky 

A plaided stranger roam. 
Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh, 
And sunlvcn cheek and heavy eye, 

Pine for his Highland home; 
Then, warrior, then be thine to show 
The care that soothes a wanderer's woe ; 
Remember then thy hap erewhile, 
A stranger in the lonely isle. 

' Or if on life's uncertain main 

Mishap shall mar thy sail; 
If faithful, wise, and brave in v^ain, 
Woe, want, and exile thou sustain 

Beneath the fickle gale ; 
Waste not a sigh on fortune changed. 
On thankless courts, or friends estranged, 
But come where kindred worth shall smile, 
To greet thee in the lonely isle.' 



As died the sounds upon the tide, 
The shallop reached the mainland side. 
And ere his onward way he took, 
The stranger cast a lingering look, 
Where easily his eye might reach 
The Harper on the islet beach. 
Reclined against a blighted tree, 



As wasted, gray, and worn as he. 

To minstrel meditation given, 

His reverend brow was raised to heaven. 

As from the rising sun to claim 

A sparkle of inspiring flame. 

His hand, reclined upon the wire, 

Seemed watching the awakening fire ; 

So still he sat as those who wait 

Till judgment speak the doom of fate 

So still, as if no breeze might dare 

To lift one lock of hoary hair ; 

So still, as life itself were fled 

In the last sound his harp had sped. 



Upon a rock with lichens wild. 
Beside him Ellen sat and smiled. — 
.Smiled she to see the stately drake 
Lead forth his fleet upon the lake. 
While her vexed spaniel from the beach 
Bayed at the prize beyond his reach .■* 
Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows, 
Why deepened on her cheek the rose .'' — 
Forgive, forgive, Fidelity ! 
Perchance the maiden smiled to see 
Yon parting lingerer wave adieu. 
And stop and turn to wave anew ; 
And, lovely ladies, ere your ire 
Condemn the heroine of my lyre, 
Show me the fair would scorn to spy 
And prize such conquest of her eye ! 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



171 



While yet he loitered on the spot, 
It seemed as Ellen marked him not; 
But when he turned him to the glade, 
One courteous parting sign she made ; 
And after, oft the knight would say, 
That not when prize of festal day 
Was dealt him by the brightest fair 
Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, 
So highly did his bosom swell 
As at that simple mute farewell. 
Now with a trusty mountain-guide. 
And his dark stag-hounds by his side, 
He parts, — the maid, unconscious still. 
Watched him wind slowly round the hill 
But when his stately form was hid, 



For of his clan, in hall and bower, \ 

Young Malcolm Gramme was held the iiower^ 

^ VII. 

The minstrel waked his harp. — three times 

Arose the well-known martial chimes. 

And thrice their high heroic pride 

In melancholy murmurs died. 

' Vainly thou bidst, O noble maid,' 

Clasping his withered hands, he said, 

' \"ainly thou bidst me wake the strain, 

Though all unwont to bid in vain. 

Alas ! than mine a mightier hand 

Has tuned my harp, my strings has spanned ' 

I touch the chords of joy, but low 

And mournful answer notes of woe ; 




The guardian in her bosom chid, — 

' Thy Malcolm ! vain and selfish maid ! ' 

'T was thus upbraiding conscience said, — 

* Not so had Malcolm idly hung 

On the smooth phrase of Southern tongue ; 

Not so had Malcolm strained his eye 

Another step than thine to spy.' — 

' Wake, Allan-bane,' aloud she cried 

To the old minstrel by her side, — 

' Arouse thee from thy moody dream! 

I '11 give thy harp heroic theme, 

And warm thee with a noble name ; 

Pour forth the glory of the Graeme ! ' 

Scarce from her lip the word had rushed, 

When deep the conscious maiden blushed ; 



And the proud march which victors tread 

Sinks in the wailing for the dead. 

O, well for me, if mine alone 

That dirge's deep prophetic tone ! 

If, as my tuneful fathers said. 

This harp, which erst Saint Modan swayed, 

Can thus its master's fate foretell, 

Then welcome be the minstrel's knell ! 



' But ah ! dear lady, thus it sighed. 

The eve thy sainted mother died ; 

And such the sounds which, while I strove 

To wake a lay of war or love, 



i;: 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Came marring all the festal mirth, 
Appalling me who gave them birth, 
And, disobedient to my call. 
Wailed loud through Bothwell's banner|d 

hall, 
Ere I^ouglases, to ruin driven. 
Were exiled from their native heaven. — 
O ! if yet worse mishap and woe 
My master's house must undergo, 
Or aught but weal to Ellen fair 
Brood in these accents of despair, 
No future bard, sad Harp ! shall fling 
Triumph or rapture from thy string ; 
One short, one tinal strain shall flow, 
Fraught with unutterable woe, 
Then shivered shall thy fragments lie, 
Thy master cast him down and die ! ' 



Soothing she answered him : 'Assuage, 

Mine honored friend, the fears of age; 

All melodies to thee are known 

That harp has rung or pipe has blown, 

In Lowland vale or Highland glen. 

From Tweed to Spey — what marvel, then. 

At times unbidden notes should rise, 

Confusedly bound in memory's ties, 

Entangling, as they rush along, 

The war-march with the funeral song? — 



Small ground is now for boding fear; 

Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 

My sire, in native virtue great, 

Resigning lordship, lands, and state. 

Not then to fortune more resigned 

Than yonder oak might give the wind; 

The graceful foliage storms may reave, 

The noble stem they cannot grieve. 

For me ' — she stooped, and, looking round. 

Plucked a blue harebell from the ground, — 

' For me, whose memory scarce conveys 

An image of more splendid days. 

This little flower that loves the lea 

May well my simple emblem be ; 

It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose 

That in the King's own gai^den grows ; 

And when I place it in my hair, 

Allan, a bard is bound to swear 

He ne'er saw coronet so fair.' 

Then playfully the chaplet wild 

She wreathed in her dark locks, and smiled. 



Her smile, her speech, with winning sway. 
Wiled the old Harper's mood away. 
With such a look as hermits throw. 
When angels stoop to soothe their woe. 
He gazed, till fond regret and pride 
Thrilled to a tear, then thus replied : 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



17: 



■ Loveliest and best ! thou 

little know'st 
The rank, the honors, thou 

hast lost ! 
O, might I live to see thee 

grace, 
In Scotland's court, thy 

birthright place, 
To see my favorite's step 

advance 
The lightest in the courtly 

dance. 
The cause of every gallant's 

sigh, 
And leading star of every eye, 
And theme of every minstrel's art, 
The Lady of the Bleeding Heart ! ' 



' Fair dreams are these,' the maiden cried, 
Light was her accent, yet she sighed, — 
' Yet is this mossy rock to me 
Worth splendid chair and canopy ; 




^^^1 / 



'■^,' 







Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay 
A Lennox foray — for a day.' — 



The ancient bard her glee repressed : 
' 111 hast thou chosen theme for jest ! 
For who, through all this western wild, 
Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled; 
In Holy-Rood a knight he slew ; 





Nor would my footstep spring more gay 
In courtly dance than blithe strathspey, 
Nor half so pleased mine ear incline 
To royal minstrel's lay as thine. 
And then for suitors proud and high. 
To bend before my conquering eye, — 
Thou, tlattering bard ! thyself wilt say. 
That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway. 
The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's pride. 
The terror of Loch Lomond's side, 



I saw, when back the dirk he drew, 
Courtiers give place before the stride 
Of the undaunted homicide ; 
And since, though outlawed, hath his hand 
Full sternly kept his mountain land. 
Who else dared give — ah ! woe the day. 
That I such hated truth should say ! — 
The Douglas, like a stricken deer. 
Disowned by every noble peer, 
Even the rude refuge we have here ? 



174 



SCOTT'S POETICAL IVOKKS. 




Alas, this wild marauding Chief 

Alone might hazard our relief, 

And now thy maiden charms expand, 

Looks for his guerdon in thy hand: 

Full soon may dispensation sought, 

To back his suit, from Rome be brought. 

Then, though an exile on the hill, 

Thy father, as the Douglas, still 

Be held in reverence and fear ; 

And though to Roderick thou Vt so dear 

That thou mightst guide with silken thread, 

Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread. 

Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth refrain ! 

Thy hand is on a lion's mane.' — 



' Minstrel,' the maid replied, and high 
Her father's soul glanced from her eye, 
' My debts to Roderick's house I know : 
All that a mother could bestow 
To Lady Margaret's care I owe. 
Since first an orphan in the wild 
She sorrowed o'er her sister's child ; 
To her brave chieftain son, from ire 
Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire, 
A deeper, holier debt is owed ; 
And, could I pay it with my blood. 



Allan ! Sir Roderick should command 
My blood, my life, — but not my hand. 
Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell 
A votaress in Maronnan's cell ; 
Rather through realms beyond the sea. 
Seeking the world's cold charity, 
Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, 
And ne'er the name of Douglas heard. 
An outcast pilgrim will she rove. 
Than wed the man she cannot love. 



' Thou shak'st, good friend, thy tresses 

gray, — 
That pleading look, what can it say 
But what I own .'' — I grant him brave. 
But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave : 
And generous, — save vindictive mood 
Or jealous transport chafe his blood : 
I grant him true to friendly band. 
As his claymore is to his hand ; 
But O ! that very blade of steel 
More mercy for a foe would feel : 
I grant him liberal, to fling 
Among his clan the wealth they bring. 
When back by lake and glen they wind, 
And in the Lowland leave behind. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



175 



Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, 

A mass of ashes slaked with blood. 

The hand that for my father fought 

I honor, a§ his daughter ought ; 

But can I clasp it reeking red 

From peasants slaughtered in their shed ? 

No ! wildly while his virtues gleam, 

They make his passions darker seem. 

And flash along his spirit high, 

Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. 



What for this island, deemed of old 
Clan- Alpine's last and surest hold ? 
If neither spy nor foe, I pray 
What yet may jealous Roderick say ? — 
Nay, wave not thy disdainful head ! 
Bethink thee of the discord dread 
That kindled when at Beltane game 
Thou ledst the dance with Malcolm Graeme : 
Still, though thy sire the peace renewed, 
Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud : 




While yet a child, — and children know, 
Instinctive taught, the friend and foe, — 
I shuddered at his brcrtv of gloom. 
His shadowy plaid and sable plume ; 
A maiden grown, I ill could bear 
His haughty mien and lordly air: 
But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim, 
In serious mood, to Roderick's name, 
I thrill with anguish ! or, if e'er 
A Douglas knew the word, with fear. 
To change such odious theme were best, — 
What think'si thou of our stranger 
guest?' — 



' What think I of him ? — woe the while 
That brought such wanderer to our isle ! 
Thy father's battle-brand, of yore 
For Tine-man forged by fairy lore. 
What time he leagued, no longer foes. 
His Border spears with Hotspur's bows, 
Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow 
The footstep of a secret foe. 
If courtly spy hath harbored here. 
What may we for the Douglas fear .^ 



Beware ! — But hark ! what sounds are 

these ? 
My dull ears catch no faltering breeze, 
No weeping birch nor aspens wake. 
Nor breath is dimpling in the lake ; 
Still is the canna's hoary beard. 
Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard — 
And hark again ! some pipe of war 
Sends the bold pibroch from afar.' 



Far up the lengthened lake were spied 
Four darkening specks upon the tide. 
That, slow enlarging on the view, 
Four manned and masted barges grew. 
And, bearing downwards from Glengyle, 
Steered full upon the lonely isle ; 
The point of Brianchoil they passed. 
And, to the windward as they cast. 
Against the sun they gave to shine 
The bold Sir Roderick's bannered Pine. 
Nearer and nearer as they bear. 
Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air. 
Now might you see the tartans brave. 
And plaids and plumage dance and wave 



1/6 



SCOTT'S POETIC A I. WORKS. 



Now see the bonnets sink and rise, 
As his tough oar the rower plies ; 
See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, 
The wave ascending into smoke ; 
See the proud pipers on the bow, 
And mark the gaudy streamers flow 
From their loud chanters down, and sweep 
The furrowed bosom of the deep. 
As, rushing through the lake amain. 
They plied the ancient Highland strain. 

XVII. 

Ever, as on they bore, more loud 
And louder rung the pibroch proud. 
At first the sounds, by distance tame. 
Mellowed along the waters came, 
And, lingering long by cape and bay, 
Wailed every harsher note away, 
Then bursting bolder on the ear, 
The clan's shrill Gathering they could hear. 
Those thrilling sounds that call the might 
Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight. 
Thick beat the rapid notes, as when 
The mustering hundreds shake the glen, 
And hurrying at the signal dread, 
The battered earth returns their tread. 
Then prelude light, of livelier tone. 
Expressed their merry marching on, 
Ere peal of closing battle rose, 



With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows ; 
And mimic din of stroke and ward. 
As broadsword upon target jarred ; 
And groaning pause, ere yet again. 
Condensed, the battle yelled amain : 
The rapid charge, the rallying shout. 
Retreat borne headlong into rout. 
And bursts of triumph, to declare 
Clan-Alpine's conquest — all were there. 
Nor ended thus the strain, but slow 
Sunk in a moan prolonged and low. 
And changed the conquering clarion swell 
P'or wild lament o'er those that fell. 



The war-pipes ceased, but lake and hill 
Were busy with their echoes still ; 
And, when they slept, a vocal strain 
Bade their hoarse chorus wake again. 
While loud a hundred clansmen raise 
Their voices in their Chieftain's praise. 
Each boatman, bending to his oar. 
With measured sweep the burden bore, 
In such wild cadence as the breeze 
Makes through December's leafless trees. 
The chorus first could Allan know, 
' Roderick Vich Alpine, ho ! iro ! ' 
And near, and nearer as they rowed, 
Distinct the martial ditty flowed. 




%, 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



177 




}3oat Song. 

Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances ! 
Honored and blessed be the ever-green 
Pine! 
Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, 
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our 
line ! 
Heaven send it happy dew, 
Earth lend it sap anew, 
Gayly to bourgeon and broadly to grow. 
While every Highland glen 
Sends our shout back again, 
' Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! ' 

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the 
fountain, 
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade ; 
When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf 
on the mountain. 
The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her 
shade. 
Moored in the rifted rock. 
Proof to the tempest's shock. 
Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; 
Menteith and Breadalbane, then, 
Echo his praise again. 
'Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! ' 



! Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen 
i Fruin, 

And Bannochar's groans to our slogan 
replied ; 
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking 
in ruin, 
And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead 
on her side. 
Widow and Saxon maid 
Long shall lament our raid. 
Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with 
woe ; 
Lennox and Leven-glen 
Shake when they hear again, 
' Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! ' 

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the 
Highlands ! 
Stretch to your oars for the ever-green 
Pine ! 
O that the rosebud that graces yon islands 
Were wreathed in a garland around him 
to twine ! 
O that some seedling gem. 
Worthy such noble stem. 
Honored and blessed in their shadow 
might grow ! 



178 



SCOTIA'S POETICAL IVOKKS. 



Loud should Clan-Alpine then 
Ring from her deepmost glen, 
Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! 



With all her joyful female band 
Had Lady .Margaret sought the strand. 
Loose on the breeze their tresses Hew, 
And high their snowy arms they threw, 
As echoing back with shrill acclaim. 
And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name ; 
While, prompt to please, with mother's art. 
The darling passion of his heart, 
The Dame called Ellen to the strand, 
To greet her kinsman ere he land : 
' Come, loiterer, come ! a Douglas thou, 
And shun to wreathe a victor's brow ?' 
Reluctantly and slow, the maid 
The unwelcome summoning obeyed. 
And when a distant bugle rung. 
In the mid-path aside she sprung : — 
' List, Allan-bane ! From mainland cast 
I hear my father's signal blast. 
Be ours,' she cried, ' the skiff to guide, 
v^nd waft him from the mountain-side.' 
Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright, 



She darted to her shallop light, 
And, eagerly while Roderick scanned, 
For her dear form, his mother's band. 
The islet far behind her lay. 
And she had landed in the bay. 



Some feelings are to mortals given 

With less of earth in them than heaven : 

And if there be a human tear 

From passion's dross refined and clear, 

A tear so limpid and so meek 

It would not stain an angel's cheek, 

'T is that which pious fathers shed 

Upon a duteous daughter's head ! 

And as the Douglas to his breast 

His darling Ellen closely pressed, 

Such holy drops her tresses steeped. 

Though 't was an hero's eye that weeped. 

Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue 

Her filial welcomes crowded hung. 

Marked she that fear — affection's proof — 

Still held a graceful youth aloof ; 

No! not till Douglas named his name, 

Although the youth was Malcolm Graeme. 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



179 



Allan, with wistful look the while, 

Marked Roderick landing on the isle ; 

His master piteously he eyed. 

Then gazed upon the Chieftain's pride, 

Then dashed with hasty hand away 

From his dimmed eye the gathering spray ; 

And Douglas, as his hand he laid 

On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said: 

* Canst thou, young friend, no meaning 

spy 
In my poor follower's glistening eye? 
I '11 tell thee : — he recalls the day 



And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise, 
As when this old man's silent tear. 
And this poor maid's affection dear, 
A welcome give more kind and true 
Than aught my better fortunes knew. 
Forgive, my friend, a father's boast, — 
O, it out-beggars all I lost ! ' 



Delightful praise! — like summer rose. 
That brighter in the dew-drop glows. 
The bashful maiden's cheek appeared. 
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard. 




When in my praise he led the lay 

O'er the arched gate of Bothwell proud, 

While many a minstrel answered loud, 

When Percy's Norman pennon, won 

In bloody field, before me shone, 

And twice ten knights, the least a name 

As mighty as yon Chief may claim, 

Gracing my pomp, behind me came. 

Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud 

Was I of all that marshalled crowd. 

Though the waned crescent owned my 

might, 
'And in my train trooped lord and knight, 
Though Blantyre hymned her holiest lays, 



The flush of shame-faced joy to hide, 
The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide ; 
The loved caresses of the maid 
The dogs with crouch and whimper paid ; 
And, at her whistle, on her hand 
The falcon took his favorite stand, 
Closed his dark wing, relaxed his eye, 
Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly. 
And, trust, while in such guise she stood. 
Like fabled Goddess of the wood, 
That if a father's partial thought 
O'erweighed her worth and beauty aught. 
Well might the lover's judgment fail 
To balance with a juster scale ; 



i8o 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



For with each secret glance he stole, 
The fond enthusiast sent his soul. 



Of stature fair, and slender frame, 
But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme. 
The belted plaid and tartan hose 
Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose ; 
His flaxen hair, of sunny hue. 
Curled closely round his bonnet blue. 
Trained to the chase, his eagle eye 
The ptarmigan in snow could spy ; 
Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, 
He knew, through Lennox and Menteith ; 
Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe 
When Malcolm bent his sounding bow. 
And scarce that doe, though winged with 

fear, 
Outstripped in speed the mountaineer : 
Right up Ben Lomond could he press. 
And not a sob his toil confess. 
His form accorded with a mind 
Lively and ardent, frank and kind ; 
A blither heart, till Ellen came. 
Did never love nor sorrow tame; 
It danced as lightsome in his breast 
As played the feather on his crest. 
Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth. 
His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth, 
And bards, who saw his features bold 
When kindled by the tales of old, 
Said, were that youth to manhood grown, 
Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown 
Be foremost voiced by mountain fame, 
But quail to that of Malcolm Greeme. 



Now back they wend their watery way. 
And, ' O my sire ! ' did Ellen say, 
' Why urge thy chase so far astray ? 



And why so late returned ? And why " — 
The rest was in her speaking eye. 
' My child, the chase I follow far. 
'T is mimicry of noble war ; 
And with that gallant pastime reft 
Were all of Douglas I have left. 
I met young Malcolm as I strayed 
Far eastward, in Glenfinlas' shade ; 
Nor strayed I safe, for all around 
Hunters and horsemen scoured the ground. 
This youth, though still a royal ward. 
Risked life and land to be my guard. 
And through the passes of the wood 
Guided my steps, not unpursued ; 
And Roderick shall his welcome make. 
Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. 
Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen, 
Nor peril aught for me again.' 



Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, 

Reddened at sight of Malcolm Graeme, 

Yet, not in action, word, or eye, 

Failed aught in hospitality. 

In talk and sport they whiled away 

The morning of that summer day ; 

But at high noon a courier light 

Held secret parley with the knight, 

Whose moody aspect soon declared 

That evil were the news he heard. 

Deep thought seemed toiling in his head; 

Yet was the evening banquet made 

Ere he assembled round the flame 

His mother, Douglas, and the Grieme, 

And Ellen too : then cast around 

His eyes, then fixed them on the ground. 

As studying phrase that might avail 

Best to convey unpleasant tale. 

Long with his dagger's hilt he played. 

Then raised his haughty brow, and said : — 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



I»I 




' Short be my speech : — nor time affords, 
Nor my plain temper, glozing words. 
Kinsman and father, — if such name 
Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim ; 
Mine honored mother; — Ellen, — why, 
My cousin, turn away thine eye ? — 
And Graeme, in whom I hope to know 
Full soon a noble friend or foe. 
When age shall give thee thy command, 
And leading in thy native land, — 
List all ! — The King's vindictive pride 
Boasts to have tamed the Border-side, 
Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who 

came 
To share their monarch's sylvan game, 
Themselves in bloody toils were snared, 
And when the banquet they prepared, 
And wide their loyal portals Hung, 
O'er their own gateway struggling hung. 
Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead, 
From Yarrow braes and banks of Tweed, 
Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide. 



And from the silver Teviot's side ; 

The dales, where martial clans did ride, 

Are now one sheep-walk, waste and wide. 

This tyrant of the Scottish throne. 

So faithless and so ruthless known. 

Now hither comes ; his end the same. 

The same pretext of sylvan game. 

What grace for Highland Chiefs, judge ye 

By fate of Border chivalry. 

Yet more ; amid Glenfinlas' green, 

Douglas, thy stately form was seen. 

This by espial sure I know : 

Your counsel in the streight I show.' 



Ellen and Margaret fearfully 
Sought comfort in each other's eye. 
Then turned their ghastly look, each one, 
This to her sire, that to her son. 
The hasty color went and came 
In the bold cheek of Malcolm Grsme, 
But from his glance it well appeared 
'T was but for Ellen that he feared ; 



l82 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



While, sorrowful, but undismayed, 

The Douglas thus his counsel said : 

' Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar, 

It may but thunder and pass o'er ; 

Nor will I here remain an hour, 

To draw the lightning on thy bower; 

For well thou know'st. at this gray head 

The royal bolt were fiercest sped. 

For thee, who, at thy King's command, 

Canst aid him with a gallant band. 

Submission, homage, humbled pride, 

Shall turn the Monarch's wrath aside. 



Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief, 
Will bind to us each Western Chief. 
When the loud pipes my bridal tell. 
The Links of Forth shall hear the knell. 
The guards shall start in Stirling's porch ; 
And when I light the nuptial torch, 
A thousand villages in flames 
Shall scare the slumbers of King James ! — 
Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away. 
And, mother, cease these signs, I pray ; 
I meant not all my heat might say. — 
Small need of inroad or of fight, 




Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, 
Ellen and I will seek apart 
The refuge of some forest cell. 
There, like the hunted quarry, dwell, 
Till on the mountain and the moor 
The stern pursuit be passed and o'er.' — 



' No, by mine honor,' Roderick said, 

' So help me Heaven, and my good blade ! 

No, never ! Blasted be yon Pine, 

My father's ancient crest and mine, 

If from its shade in danger part 

The lineage of the Bleeding Heart ! 

Hear my blunt speech : grant me this maid 

To wife, thy counsel to mine aid; 

To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, 

Will friends and allies flock enow; 



When the sage Douglas may vmite 
Each mountain clan in friendly band, 
To guard the passes of their land. 
Till the foiled King from pathless glen 
Shall bootless turn him home airain.' 



There are who have, at midnight hour. 

In slumber scaled a dizzy tower. 

And, on the verge that beetled o'er 

The ocean tide's incessant roar. 

Dreamed calmly out their dangerous dream, 

Till wakened by the morning beam ; 

When, dazzled by the eastern glow. 

Such startler cast his glance below, 

And saw unmeasured deptli around. 

And heard unintcrmitted sound. 

And thought the battled fence so frail. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



183 




It waved like cobweb in the gale ; — 
Amid his senses' giddy wheel, 
Did he not desperate impulse feel, 
Headlong to plunge himself below. 
And meet the worst his fears foreshow ? — 
Thus Ellen, dizzy and astound, 
As sudden ruin yawned around, 
By crossing terrors wildly tossed. 
Still for the Douglas fearing most, 
Could scarce the desperate thought with- 
stand. 
To buy his safety with her hand. 



Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy 
In Ellen's quivering lip and eye. 
And eager rose to speak, — but ere 
His tongue could hurry forth his fear. 
Had Douglas marked the hectic strife. 
Where death seemed combating with life : 
For to her cheek, in feverish flood. 
One instant rushed the throbbing blood. 
Then ebbing back, with sudden sway, 
Left its domain as wan as clay. 
' Roderick, enough ! enough ! ' he cried, 



' My daughter cannot be thy bride ; 
Not that the blush to wooer dear. 
Nor paleness that of maiden fear. 
It may not be, — forgive her. Chief, 
Nor hazard aught for our relief. 
Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er 
Will level a rebellious spear. 
'T was I that taught his youthful hand 
To rein a steed and wield a brand ; 
I see him yet, the princely boy ! 
Not Ellen more my pride and joy ; 
I love him still, despite my wrongs 
By hasty wrath and slanderous tongues. 
O, seek the grace you well may find, 
Without a cause to mine combined ! ' 

XXXIII. 

Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode ; 
The waving of his tartans broad. 
And darkened brow, w^here wounded pride 
With ire and disappointment vied, 
Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light. 
Like the ill Demon of the night. 
Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway 
Upon the nighted pilgrim's way : 



1 84 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



But, unrequited Love ! thy dart 
Plunged deepest its envenomed smart, 
And Roderick, with thine anguish stung, 
At length the hand of Douglas wrung. 
While eyes that mocked at tears before 
With bitter drops were running o'er. 
The death-pangs of long-cherished hope 
Scarce in that ample breast had scope, 
But, struggling with his spirit proud, 
Convulsive heaved its checkered shroud, 



With stalwart grasp his hand he laid 
On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid : 
' Back, beardless boy ! ' he sternly said, 
' Back, minion ! holdst thou thus at naught 
The lesson I so lately taught ? 
This roof, the Douglas, and that maid. 
Thank thou for punishment delayed.' 
Eager as greyhound on his game. 
Fiercely with Roderick grappled Grceme. 
' Perish my name, if aught afford 




While every sob — so mute were all - 
Was heard distinctly through the hall. 
The son's despair, the mother's look, 
111 might the gentle Ellen brook ; 
She rose, and to her side there came. 
To aid her parting steps, the Grsme. 



Then Roderick from the Douglas broke - 
As flashes flame tlirough sable smoke. 
Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low, 
To one broad blaze of ruddy glow, 
So the deep anguish of despair 
Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. 



Its Chieftain safety save his sword ! " 

Thus as they strove their desperate hand 

Griped to the dagger or the brand. 

And deatli had been — but Douglas rose. 

And thrust between the struggling foes 

His giant strength : — ' Chieftains, forego I 

1 hold the first who strikes my foe. — 

Madmen, forbear your frantic jar ! 

What ! is the Douglas fallen so far, 

His daughter's hand is deemed the spoil 

Of such dishonorable broil ? ' 

Sullen and slowly tliey unclasp. 

As struck with shame, their desperate grasp, 

And each upon his rival glared, 

With foot advanced and blade half bared. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



185 




Ere yet the brands aloft were flung, 
Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung, 
And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream, 
As faltered through terrific dream. 
Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword, 
And veiled his wrath in scornful word : 
' Rest safe till morning ; pity 't were 
Such cheek should feel the midnight air ! 
Then mayst thou to James Stuart tell, 
Roderick will keep the lake and fell, 
Nor lackey with his freeborn clan 
The pageant pomp of earthly man. 
More would he of Clan-Alpine know. 
Thou canst our strength and passes show. — 
Malise, what ho ! ' — his henchman came : 
' Give our safe-conduct to the Grreme.' 
Young Malcolm answered, calm and bold : 
' Fear nothing for thy favorite hold ; 
The spot an angel deigned to grace 
Is blessed, though robbers haunt the j^lace. 
Thy churlish courtesy for those 
Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. 
As safe to me the mountain way 
At midnight as in blaze of day. 
Though with his boldest at his back 
Even Roderick Dhu beset the track. — 
Brave Douglas, — lovely Ellen, — nay. 
Naught here of parfmg will I say. 
Earth does not hold a lonesome glen 
So secret but we meet again. — 
Chieftain ! we too shall find an hour,' — 
He said, and left the svlvan bower. 



Old Allan followed to the strand — 
Such was the Douglas's command — 
And anxious told, how, on the morn, 
The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn, 
The Fiery Cross should circle o'er 
Dale, glen, and valley, down and moor. 
Much were the peril to the GrEeme 
From those who to the signal came; 
Far up the lake 't were safest land. 
Himself would row him to the strand. 
He gave his counsel to the wind. 
While Malcolm did, unheeding, bind. 
Round dirk and pouch and broadsword 

rolled, 
His ample plaid in tightened fold. 
And stripped his limbs to such array 
As best might suit the watery way, — 

XXXVII. 

Then spoke abrupt : ' Farewell to thee, 
Pattern of old fidelity ! ' 
The Minstrel's hand he kindly pressed, — 
' O, could I point a place of rest ! 
My sovereign holds in ward my land. 
My uncle leads my vassal band ; 
To tame his foes, his friends to aid. 
Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade. 
Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme 
Who loves the chieftain of his name, 
Not long shall honored Douglas dwell 
Like hunted stag in mountain cell ; 



1 86 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Nor, ere yon pride-swollen robber dare, - 
I may not give the rest to air ! 
Tell Roderick Dhu I owed him naught, 
Not the poor service of a boat, 
To waft me to yon mountain-side.' 
Then plunged he in the flashing tide. 
Bold o'er the flood his head he bore, 
And stoutly steered him from the shore: 
And Allan strained his anxious eye. 



Far mid the lake his form to spy. 
Darkening across each puny wave. 
To which the moon her silver gave. 
Fast as the cormorant could skim, 
The swimmer plied each active limb : 
Then landing in the moonlight dell, 
Loud shouted of his weal to tell. 
The Minstrel heard the far halloo, 
And joyful from the shore withdrew. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



187 




W^z ILatJg of tlje Eake. 

CANTO THIRD. 

THE GATHERING. 



Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race 
of yore, 
Who danced our infancy upon their knee, 
And told our marvelling boyhood legends 
store 
Of their strange ventures happed by land 
or sea. 
How are they blotted from the thingcs that 
be! ^ 
How few, all weak and withered of their 
force, 
Wait on the verge of dark eternity, 

Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning 
hoarse. 
To sweep them from our sight ! Time rolls 
his ceaseless course. 

Yet live there still who can remember well. 
How, when a mountain chief his bugle 
blew. 



Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and deil, 

And solitary heath, the signal knew ; 
And fast the faithful clan around him drew. 
What time the warning note was keenly 
wound. 
What time aloft their kindred banner flew. 
While clamorous war-pipes yelled the 
gathering sound. 
And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a 
meteor, round. 



The Summer dawn's reflected hue 

To purple changed Loch Katrine blue ; 

Mildly and soft the western breeze 

Just kissed the lake, just stirred the trees. 

And the pleased lake, like maiden coy. 

Trembled but dimpled not for joy : 

The mountain-shadows on her breast 

Were neither broken nor at rest ; 

In bright uncertainty they lie, 

Like future joys to Fancy's eye. 

The water-lily to the light 

Her chalice reared of silver bright ; 

The doe awoke, and to the lawn. 

Begemmed with dew-drops, led her fawn ; 

The gray mist left the mountain-side. 

The torrent showed its glistening pride ; 



1 88 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Invisible in flecked sky 

The lark sent down her revelry ; 

The blackbird and the speckled thrush 

Good-morrow gave from brake and bush ; 

In answer cooed the cushat dove 

Her notes of peace and rest and love. 



No thought of peace, no thought of rest, 
Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast. 
With sheathed broadsword in his hand, 
Abrupt he paced the islet strand, 
And eyed the rising sun, and laid 
His hand on his impatient blade. 
Beneath a rock, his vassals' care 
Was prompt the ritual to prepare, 
With deep and deathful meaning fraught: 
For such Antiquity had taught 
Was preface meet, ere yet abroad 
The Cross of Fire should take its road. 
The shrinking band stood oft aghast 
At the impatient glance he cast ; — 
Such glance the mountain eagle threw. 
As, from the cliffs of Benvenue, 
She spread her dark sails on the wind. 
And, high in middle heaven reclined, 
With her broad shadow on the lake, 
Silenced the warblers of the brake. 



A heap of withered boughs was piled. 
Of juniper and rowan wild. 
Mingled with shivers from the oak. 
Rent by the lightning's recent stroke. 
Brian the Hermit by it stood. 
Barefooted, in his frock and hood. 
His grizzled beard and matted hair 
Obscured a visage of despair ; 
His naked arms and legs, seamed o'er. 
The scars of frantic penance bore. 
That monk, of savage form and face. 
The impending danger of his race 
Had drawn from deepest solitude, 
F'ar in Benharrow's bosom rude. 
Not his the mien of Christian priest. 
But Druid's, from the grave released. 
Whose hardened heart and eye might brook 
On human sacrifice to look ; 
And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore 
Mixed in the charms he muttered o'er. 
The hallowed creed gave only worse 
And deadlier emphasis of curse. 
No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer. 
His cave the pilgrim shunned with care; 
The eager huntsman knew his bound. 
And in mid chase called off his hound ; 
Or if, in lonely glen or strath. 
The desert-dweller met his path, 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



189 



He prayed, and signed the cross between, 
While terror took devotion's mien. 



Of Brian's birth strange tales were told. 
His mother watched a midnight fold, 
Built deep within a dreary glen. 
Where scattered lay the bones of men 
In some forgotten battle slain, 
And bleached by drifting wind and rain. 
It might have tamed a warrior's heart 
To view such mockery of his art ! 



Her maiden girdle all too short, 
Nor sought she, from that fatal night, 
Or holy church or blessed rite. 
But locked her secret in her breast, 
And died in travail, unconfessed. 



Alone, among his young compeers, 
Was Brian from his infant years ; 
A moody and heart-broken boy. 
Estranged from sympathy and joy. 
Bearing: each taunt which careless tongue 




The knot-grass fettered there the hand 
Which once could burst an iron band ; 
Beneath the broad and ample bone, 
That bucklered heart to fear unknown, 
A feeble and a timorous guest, 
The lieldfare framed her lowly nest : 
There the slow blindworm left his slime 
On the fleet limbs that mocked at time ; 
And there, too, lay the leader's skull, 
Still wreathed with chaplet, flushed and full. 
For heath-bell with her purple bloom 
Supplied the bonnet and the plume. 
All night, in this sad glen, the maid 
Sat shrouded in her mantle's shade : 
She said no shepherd sought her side, . 
No hunter's hand her snood untied, 
Yet ne'er again to braid her hair 
The virgin snood did Alice wear ; 
Gone was her maiden glee and sport, 



On his mysterious lineage flung. 

Whole nights he spent by moonlight pale. 

To wood and stream his hap to wail. 

Till, frantic, he as truth received 

What of his birth the crowd believed, 

And sought, in mist and meteor fire. 

To meet and know his Phantom Sire ! 

In vain, to soothe his wayward fate, 

The cloister oped her pitying gate ; 

In vain the learning of the age 

Unclasped the sable-lettered page ; 

Even in its treasures he could find 

Food for the fever of his mind. 

Eager he read whatever tells 

Of magic, cabala, and spells, 

And every dark pursuit allied 

To curious and presumptuous pride ; 

Till with fired brain and nerves o'erstrung, 

And heart with mystic horrors- wrung, 



1 9© 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Desperate he sought Benharrow's den, 
And hid him from the haunts of men. 



The desert gave him visions wild, 
Such as might suit the spectre's child. 
Where with black cliffs the torrents toil, 
He watched the wheeling eddies boil, 
Till from their foam his dazzled eyes 
Beheld the River Demon rise : 
The mountain mist took form and limb 
Of noontide hag or goblin grim ; 
The midnight wind came wild and dread, 
Swelled with the voices of the dead ; 
Far on the future battle-heath 
His eye beheld the ranks of death ; 
Thus the lone Seer, from mankind hurled, 
Shaped forth a disembodied world. 
One lingering sympathy of mind 
Still bound him to the mortal kind ; 
The only parent he could claini 
Of ancient Alpine's lineage came. 
Late had he heard, in projahet's dream, 
The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream; 
Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast 
Of charging steeds, careering fast 
Along Benharrow's shingly side. 
Where- ftiortal horseman ne'er might ride ; 



The thunderbolt had split the pine, — 

All augured ill to Alpine's line. 

He girt his loins, and came to show 

The signals of impending woe. 

And now stood prompt to bless or ban. 

As bade the Chieftain of his clan. 



'T was all prepared ; — and from the rock 
A goat, the patriarch of the flock. 
Before the kindling pile was laid. 
And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. 
Patient the sickening victim eyed 
The life-blood ebb in crimson tide 
Down his clogged beard and shaggy limb, 
Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim. 
The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer, 
A slender crosslet framed with care, 
A cubit's length in measure due ; 
The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, 
Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave 
Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's grave. 
And, answering Lomond's breezes deep. 
Soothe many a cliief tain's endless sleep. 
The Cross thus formed he held on high. 
With wasted hand and haggard eye. 
And strange and mingled feelings woke, 
While his anathema he spoke ; — 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



191 




' Woe to the clansman who shall view 
This symbol of sepulchral yew, 
Forgetful that its branches grew 
Where weep the heavens their holiest dew 

On Alpine's dwelling low! 
Deserter of his Chieftain's trust, 
He ne'er shall mingle with their dust, 
But, from his sires and kindred thrust. 
Each clansman's execration just 

Shall doom him wrath and woe.' 
He paused ; — the word the vassals took, 
With forward step and fiery look. 
On high their naked brands they shook, 
Their clattering targets wildly strook ; 

And first in murmur low. 
Then, like the billow in his course. 
That far to seaward finds his source, 
And flings to shore his mustered force, 
Burst with loud roar their answer hoarse, 

' Woe to the traitor, woe ! ' 
Ben-an's gray scalp the accents knew, 
The joyous wolf from covert drew. 
The exulting eagle screamed afar, — 
They knew the voice of Alpine's war. 



The shout was hushed on lake and fell. 
The Monk resumed his muttered spell : 
Dismal and low its accents came. 
The while he scathed the Cross with flame 
And the few words that reached the air, 
Although the holiest name was there. 
Had more of blasphemy than prayer. 
But when he shook above the crowd 
Its kindled points, he spoke aloud : — 
' Woe •io the wretch who fails to rear 
At this dread sign the ready spear ! 
For, as the flames this symbol sear, 
His home, the refuge of his fear, 

A kindred fate shall know ; 
Far o'er its roof the volumed flame 
Clan-Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim. 
While maids and matrons on his name 
Shall call down wretchedness and shame. 

And infamy and woe." 
Then rose the cry of females, shrill 
As goshawk's whistle on the hill. 
Denouncing misery and ill. 
Mingled with childhood's babbling trill 

Of curses stammered slow ; 



192 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Answering with imprecation dread. 
'Sunk be his home in embers red ! 
And cursed be the meanest shed 
That e'er shall hide the houseless head 

We doom to want and woe ! ' 
A sharp and shrieking echo gave, 
Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave ! 
And the gray pass where birches wave 

On Beala-nam-bo. 



May ravens tear the careless eyes. 
Wolves make the coward heart their 

prize ! 
As sinks that blood-stream in the earth. 
So may his heart's-blood drench his hearth ! 
As dies in hissing gore the spark, 
Quench thou his light. Destruction dark ! 
And be the grace to him denied. 
Bought by this sign to all besidg ! " 




Then deeper paused the priest anew. 
And hard his laboring breath he dre\V, 
While, with set teeth and clenched hand. 
And eyes that glowed like fiery brand, 
He meditated curse more dread. 
And deadlier, on the clansman's head 
Who, summoned to his chieftain's aid. 
The signal saw and disobeyed. 
The crosslet's points of sparkling wood 
He quenched among the bubbling blood. 
And, as again the sign he reared, 
Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard : 
' When flits this Cross from man to man, 
Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan, 
liurst be the ear that fails to heed ! 
Palsied the foot that shuns to speed ! 



He ceased ; no echo gave again 
The murmur of the deep Amen. 



Then Roderick with impatient look 
From Brian's hand the symbol took : 
' Speed, Malise, speed ! ' he said, and gave 
The crosslet to his henchman brave. 
'The muster-place be Lanrick mead — 
Instant the time — speed, Malise, speed !' 
Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue, 
A barge across Loch Katrine flew: 
High stood the henchman on the prow ; 
So rapidly the barge-men row. 
The bubbles, where they launched the boat, 
Were all unbroken and afloat, 
Dancing in foam and ripple still, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



193 




When it had nearecl the mainland hill : 
And from the silver beach's side 
Still was the prow three fathom wide, 
When lightly bounded to the land 
The messenger of blood and brand. 



Speed, Malise, speed ! the dun deer's hide 
On fleeter foot was never tied. 
Speed, Malise, speed ! such cause of haste 
Thine active sinews never braced. 
Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, 
Burst down like torrent from its crest ; 
With short and springing footstep pass 
The trembling bog and false morass ; 
Across the brook like roebuck bound, 
And thread the brake like questing hound ; 
The crag is high, the scaur is deep, 
Yet shrink not from the desperate leap : 
Parched are thy burning lips and brow. 
Yet by the fountain pause not now ; 
Herald of battle, fate, and fear. 
Stretch onward in thy fleet career ! 
The wounded hind thou track's! not now, 
Pursuest not maid throi^gh greenwood 

bough, 
Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace 
With rivals in the mountain race ; 
But danger, death, and warrior deed 
Are in thy course — speed, Malise, speed ! 



Fast as the fatal symbol flies, 

In arms the huts and hamlets rise ; 

From winding glen, from upland brown, 

They poured each hardy tenant down. 

Nor slacked the messenger his pace : 

He showed the sign, he named the place, 

And, pressing forward like the wind, 

Left clamor and surprise behind. 

The fisherman forsook the strand. 

The swarthy smith took dirk and brand ; 

With changed cheer, the mower blithe 

Left in the half-cut swath his scythe; 

The herds without a keeper strayed. 

The plough was in mid-furrow stayed, 

The falconer tossed his hawk away. 

The hunter left the stag at bay : 

Prompt at the signal of alarms, 

Each son of Alpine rushed to arms ; 

So swept the tumult and affray 

Along the margin of Achray. 

Alas, thou lovely lake ! that e'er 

Thv banks should echo sounds of fear ! 

The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep 

So stilly on thy bosom deep. 

The lark's blithe carol from the cloud 

Seems for the scene too gayly loud. 



Speed, Malise. speed ! The lake is past. 
Duncraggan's huts appear at last. 



13 



194 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen, 

Half hidden in the copse so green ; 

There mayst thou rest, thy labor done. 

Their lord shall speed the signal on. — 

As stoops the hawk upon his prey. 

The henchman shot him down the way. 

What woful accents load the gale ? 

The funeral yell, the female wail ! 

A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, 

A valiant warrior fights no more. 

Who, in the battle or the chase. 

At Roderick's side shall fill his place ! — 



Fleet foot on the correi, 

Sage counsel in cumber, 
Red hand in the foray, 

How sound is thy slumber ! 
Like the dew on the mountain. 

Like the foam on the river. 
Like the bubble on the fountain, 

Thou art gone, and forever ! 



See Stumah, who, the bier beside, 
His master's corpse with wonder eyed, 




Within the hall, where torch's ray 
Supplies the excluded beams of day, 
Lies Duncan on his lowly bier, 
And o'er him streams his widow's tear. 
His stripling son stands mournful by. 
His youngest weeps, but knows not why 
The village maids and matrons round 
The dismal coronach resound. 



(Koronarij. 

He is gone on the mountain, 

He is lost to the forest, 
Like a summer-dried fountain. 

When our need was the sorest. 
The font, reappearing, 

From the rain-drops shall borrow. 
But to us comes no cheering. 

To Duncan no morrow ! 

The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoary. 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory. 
The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that are searest, 
But our flower was in flushing, 

When blitrhting: was nearest. 



Poor Stumah ! whom his least halloo 
Could send like lightning o'er the dew, 
Bristles his crest, and points his ears, 
As if some stranger step he hears. 
'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread. 
Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead, 
But headlong haste or deadly fear 
LJrge the precipitate career. 
All stand aghast : — unheeding all. 
The henchman bursts into the hall ; 
Before the dead man's bier he stood, 
Held forth the Cross besmeared with blood ; 
' The muster-place is Lanrick mead ; 
Speed forth the signal ! clansmen, speed ! ' 



Angus, the heir of Duncan's line, 
Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign. 
In haste the stripling to his side 
His father's dirk and broadsword tied ; 
But when he saw his mother's eye 
Watch him in speechless agony. 
Back to her opened arms he flew, 
Pressed on her hps a fond adieu, — 
' Alas ! ' she sobbed, — ' and yet be gone, 
And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son ! ' 
One look he cast upon the bier. 
Dashed from his eye the gathering tear. 
Breathed deep to clear his laboring breast, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



195 




And tossed aloft his bonnet crest, 
Then, like the high-bred colt when, freed, 
First he essays his fire and speed. 
He vanished, and o'er moor and moss 
Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. 
Suspended was the widow's tear 
While yet his footsteps she could hear ; 
And when she marked the henchman's eye 



Wet with unwonted sympathy, 

' Kinsman,' she said, ' his race is run 

That should have sped thine errand on ; 

The oak has fallen, — the sapling bough 

Is all Duncraggan's shelter now. 

Yet trust I well, his duty done, 

The orphan's God will guard my son. — 

And you, in many a danger true. 




196 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



At Duncan's best your blades that drew, 
To arms, and guard that orphan's head ! 
Let babes and women wail the dead.' 
Then weapon-clang and martial call 
Resounded through the funeral hall, 
While from the walls the attendant band 



XIX. 



Benledi saw the Cross of Fire, 
It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. 
O'er dale and hill the summons flew. 
Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew; 
The tear that gathered in his eye 




Snatched sword and targe with hurried 

hand ; 
And short and flitting energy 
Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, 
As if the sounds to warrior dear 
Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. 
But faded soon that borrowed force ; 
Grief claimed his right, and tears their 

course. 



He left the mountain-breeze to dry ; 
Until, where Teith's young w-aters roll 
Betwixt him and a wooded knoll 
That graced the sable strath with green. 
The chapel of Saint Bride was seen. 
Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge. 
But Angus paused not on the edge ; 
Though the dark waves danced dizzily, 
Though reeled his sympathetic eye, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



197 




He dashed amid the torrent's roar : 

His right hand high the crosslet bore, 

His left the pole-axe grasped, to guide 

And stay his footing in the tide. 

He stvniibled twice, — the foam splashed 

high, 
With hoarser swell the stream raced by ; 
And had he fallen, — forever there. 
Farewell Dimcraggan's orphan heir ! 
But still, as if in parting life, 
Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife, 
Until the opposing bank he gained, 
And up the chapel pathway strained. 



A blithesome rout that morning-tide 
Had sought the chapel of Saint Bride. 
Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 
To Norman, heir of Armandave, 
And, issuing from the Gothic arch. 
The bridal now resumed their march. 
In rude but glad procession came 
Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame ; 
And plaided youth, with jest and jeer. 
Which snooded maiden would not hear ; 
And children, that, unwitting why, 
Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry ; 
And minstrels, that in measures vied 
Before the young and bonny bride. 
Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose 
The tear and blush of morning rose. 
With virgin step and bashful hand 
She held the kerchief's snowy band. 
The gallant bridegroom by her side 
Beheld his prize with victor's pride, 
And the glad mother in her ear 
Was closely whispering word of cheer. 



Who meets them at the churchyard gate ? 

The messenger of fear and fate ! 

Haste in his hurried accent lies, 

And grief is swimming in his eyes. 

All dripping from the recent flood, 

Panting and travel-soiled he stood. 

The fatal sign of fire and sword 

Held forth, and spoke the appointed word 

' The muster-place is Lanrick mead ; 

Speed forth the signal ! Norman, speed ! " 

And must he change so soon the hand 

Just linked to his by holy band, 

For the fell Cross of blood and brand? 

And must the day so blithe that rose, 

And promised rapture in the close, 

Before its setting hour, divide 

The bridegroom from the plighted bride ? 

O fatal doom ! — it must ! it must ! 

Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust, 

Her summons dread, brook no delay ; 

Stretch to the race, — away ! away ! 



Yet slow he laid his plaid aside. 
And lingering eyed his lovely bride. 
Until he saw the starting tear 
Speak woe he might not stop to cheer ; 
Then, trusting not a second look. 
In haste he sped him up the brook. 
Nor backward glanced till on the heath 
Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith. 
What in the racer's bosom stirred ? 
The sickening pang of hope deferred. 
And memory with a torturing train 
Of all his morning visions vain. 
Mingled with love's impatience, came 



198 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The manly thirst for martial fame ; 

The stormy joy of mountaineers 

Ere yet they rush upon the spears ; 

And zeal for Clan and Chieftain burning. 

And hope, from well-fought field returning, 

With war's red honors on his crest. 

To clasp his Mary to his breast. 

Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae. 

Like tire from flint he glanced away, 

While high resolve and feeling strong 

Burst into voluntary song. 



Sons. 

The heath this night must be my bed, 
The bracken curtain for my head, 
My lullaby the warder's tread. 

Far, far, from love and thee, Mary 
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, 
My couch may be my bloody plaid. 
My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid ! 

It will not waken me, Mary ! 

I may not, dare not, fancy now 

The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, 

I dare not think upon thy vow. 

And all it promised me, Mary. 
No fond regret must Norman know; 
When bursts Clan- Alpine on the foe, 
His heart must be like bended bow. 

His foot like arrow free, Mary. 



A time will come with feeling fraught, 
For, if I fall in battle fought. 
Thy hapless lover's dying thought 

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. 
And if returned from conquered foes. 
How blithely will the evening close. 
How sweet the linnet sing repose. 

To my young bride and me, Mary 



Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, 
Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze, 
Rushing in conflagration strong 
Thy deep ravines and dells along. 
Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow, 
And reddening the dark lakes below ; 
Nor faster speeds it, nor so far. 
As o'er thy heaths the voice of war. 
The signal roused to martial coil 
The sullen margin of Loch Voil, 
Waked still Loch Doine, and to the source 
Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course ; 
Thence southward turned its rapid road 
Adown Strath-Gartney's valley broad. 
Till rose in arms each man might claim 
A portion in Clan-Alpine's name. 
From the gray sire, whose trembling hand 
Could hardly buckle on his brand. 
To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow 
Were yet scarce terror to the crow. 
Each valley, each sequestered glen, 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



199 




Mustered its little horde of men, 

That met as torrents from the height 

In highland dales their streams unite, 

Still gathering, as they pour along, 

A voice more loud, a tide more strong. 

Till at the rendezvous they stood 

By hundreds prompt for blows and blood. 

Each trained to arms since life began, 

Owning no tie but to his clan. 

No oath but by his chieftain's ha^d, 

No law but Roderick Dhu's command. 



That summer morn had Roderick Dhu 
Surveyed the skirts of Benvenue, 
And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath. 
To view the frontiers of Menteith. 
All backward came with news of truce ; 
Still lay each martial Graeme and Bruce, 
In Rednock courts no horsemen wait. 
No banner waved on Cardross gate. 
On Duchray's towers no beacon shone, 
Nor scared the herons from Loch Con :• 
All seemed at peace. — Now wot ye why 
The Chieftain with such anxious eye. 
Ere to the muster he repair. 
This western frontier scanned with care ?- 
In Benvenue 's most darksome cleft, 
A fair though cruel pledge was left ; 
For Douglas, to his promise true. 
That morning fi'om the isle withdrew. 
And in a deep sequestered dell 



Had sought a low and lonely cell. 
By many a bard in Celtic tongue 
Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung ; 
A softer name the Saxons gave. 
And called the grot the Goblin Cave. 



It was a wild and strange retreat. 
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. 
The dell, upon the mountain's crest. 
Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast ; 
Its trench had stayed full many a rock, 
Hurled by primeval earthquake shock 
From Benvenue's gray summit wild, 
And here, in random ruin piled. 
They frowned incumbent o'er the spot. 
And formed the rugged sylvan grot. 
The oak and birch with mingled shade 
At noontide there a twilight made. 
Unless when short and sudden shone 
Some straggling beam on cliff or stone. 
With such a glimpse as prophet's eye 
Gains on thy depth. Futurity. 
No murmur waked the solemn still. 
Save tinkling of a fountain rill ; 
But when the wind chafed with the lake. 
A sullen sound would upward break, 
With dashing hollow voice, that spoke 
The incessant war of wave and rock. 
-Suspended cliffs with hideous sway 
Seemed nodding o'er the cavern gray. 
From such a den the wolf had sprung. 



200 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



In such the wild-cat leaves her young ; 
Yet Douglas and his daughter fair 
Sought for a space their safety there. 
Gray Superstition's whisper dread 
Debarred the spot to vulgar tread ; 
For there, she said, did fays resort, 
And satyrs hold their sylvan court, 
By moonlight tread their mystic maze, 
And blast the rash beholder's gaze. 



Now eve, with western shadows long. 
Floated on Katrine bright and strong, 



For strength and stature, from the clan 
Each warrior was a chosen man, 
As even afar might well be seen. 
By their proud step and martial mien. 
Their feathers dance, their tartans float, 
Their targets gleam, as by the boat 
A wild and warlike group they stand. 
That well became such mountain-strand. 

XXVIII. 

Their Chief with step reluctant still 
Was lingering on the craggy hill, 
Hard by where turned apart the road 




When Roderick with a chosen few 

Repassed the heights of Benvenue. 

Above the Goblin Cave they go, 

Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo ; 

The prompt retainers speed before, 

To launch the shallop from the shore, 

For 'cross Loch Katrine lies his way 

To view the passes of Achray, 

And place his clansmen in array. 

Yet lags the Chief in musing mind. 

Unwonted sight, his men behind. 

A single page, to bear his sword. 

Alone attended on his lord ; 

The rest their way through thickets break, 

And soon await him by the lake. 

It was a fair and gallant sight, 

To view them from the neighboring height. 

By the low-levelled sunbeam's light ! 



To Douglas's obscure abode. 
It was but with that dawning morn 
That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn 
To drown his love in war's wild roar. 
Nor think of Ellen Douglas more ; 
But he who stems a stream with sand, 
And fetters flame with flaxen band. 
Has yet a harder task to prove, — 
By firm resolve to conquer love ! 
Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost, 
Still hovering near his treasure lost ; 
For though his haughty heart deny 
A parting meeting to his eye. 
Still fondly strains his anxious ear 
The accents of her voice to hear. 
And inly did he curse tlie breeze 
That waked to sound the rustling trees. 
But hark ! what mingles in the strain ? 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



20I 




It is the harp of Allan-bane, 

That wakes its measure slow and high, 

Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 

What melting voice attends the strings ? 

'T is Ellen, or an angel, sings. 

XXIX. 

I^gmn \n tfje Uirfltn. 

Ave Maria ! maiden mild ! 

Listen to a maiden's prayer ! 
Thou canst hear though from the wild. 



Thou canst save amid despair. 
Safe may we sleep beneath thy care. 

Though banished, outcast, and reviled — 
Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer ; 

Mother, hear a suppliant child ! 

Ave Maria f 

Ave Maria / undefiled ! 

The flinty couch we now must share 
Shall seem with down of eider piled. 

If thy protection hover there. 
The murky cavern's heavy air 





202 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled; 
Then, Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer. 
Mother, list a suppliant child ! 

Ave Maria.' 

Ave Maria .' stainless styled ! 

P'oul demons of the earth and air, 
From this their wonted haunt exiled, 

Shall flee before thy presence fair. 
We bow us to our lot of care. 

Beneath thy guidance reconciled : 
Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, 

And for a father hear a child ! 

Ave Maria I 



They landed in that silvery bay, 
And eastward h' Id their hasty way, 
Till, with the la'.est beams of light, 
The band arrived on Lanrick height. 
Where mustered in the vale below 
Clan-Alpine's men in martial show. 



A various scene the clansmen made : 
Some sat, some stood, some slowly strayed ; 
But most, with mantles folded round, 
Were couched to rest upon thd ground. 
Scarce to be known by curious eye 










Died on the harp the closing hymn, — 
Unmoved in attitude and limb, 
As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lord 
Stood leaning on his heavy sword, 
Until the page with humble sign 
Twice pointed to the sun's decline. 
Then while his plaid he round him cast, 
' It is the last time — 't is tlie last,' 
He muttered thrice, — 'the last time e'er 
That angel-voice shall Roderick hear ! ' 
It was a goading thought, — his stride 
Hied hastier down the mountain-side ; 
Sullen he flung him in the boat. 
An instant 'cross the lake it shot. 



From the deep heather where they lie, 
So well was matched the tartan screen 
With heath-bell dark and brackens green ; 
Unless where, here and there, a blade 
Or lance's point^ glimmer made. 
Like glow-worm twinkling through the 

shade. 
But when, advancing through the gloom, 
They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume. 
Their shout of welcome, shrill and w'ide, 
Sliook the steep mountain's steady side. 
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell 
Three times returned the martial yell ; 
It died upon Bochastle's plain. 
And Silence claimed her evening reign. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



20^ 




€f)£ Eatig of t{)e 3Lake. 

CANTO FOURTH. 
THE PROPHECY. 



* The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, 

And hope is brightest when it dawns from 
fears ; 
The rose is sweetest washed with morning 
dew, 
And love is loveHest when embalmed in 
tear^. 
O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 
I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave. 
Emblem of hope and love through future 
years ! ' 
Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Ar- 
mandave, 
What time the sun arose on Vennachar's 
broad wave. 

II. 

Such fond conceit, half said, half sung, 
Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. 
All while he stripped the wild-rose spray, 
His axe and bow beside himlay. 
For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood 
A wakeful sentinel he stood. 
Hark ! — on the rock a footstep rung. 
And instant to his arms he sprung. 

* Stand, or thou diest ! — What, Malise } — 

soon 
Art thou returned from Braes of Doune. 
By thy keen step and glance I know, 
Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe.' — 
For while the Fiery Cross hied on. 
On distant scout had Malise gone. — ■ 
'Where .sleeps the Chief.? 'the henchman 

said. 

* Apart, in yonder misty glade : 

To his lone couch I '11 be your guide.' — 
Then called a slumberer by his side. 
And stirred him with his slackened bow, — 
' Up, up, Glentarkin ! rouse thee, ho ! 
We seek the Chieftain ; on the track 
Keep eagle watch till I come back.' 



Together up the pass they sped : 

' What of the foeman ? ' Norman said. — 

' Varying reports from near and far : 

This certain, — that a band of war 

Has for two days been ready boune. 

At prompt command to march from Doune ; 

King James the while, with princely powers, 

Holds revelry in Stirling towers. 

Soon will this dark and gathering cloud 

Speak on our glens in thunder loud. 

Inured to bide such bitter bout. 

The warrior's plaid may bear it out; 

But, Norman, how wilt thou provide 

A shelter for thy bonny bride ? ' — 

' What ! know ye not that Roderick's care 

To the lone isle hath caused repair 

Each maid and matron of the clan, 

And every child and aged man 

Unfit for arms ; and given his charge. 

Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge, 

Upon these lakes shall float at large, 

But all beside the islet moor. 

That such dear pledge may rest secure ? ' — 



' 'T is well advised, — the Chieftain's plan 

Bespeaks the father of his clan. 

But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu« 

Apart from all his followers true ? ' 

' It is because last evening-tide 

Brian an augury hath tried, 

Of that dread kind which must not be 

Unless in dread extremity, 

The Taghairm called ; by which, afar, 

Our sires foresaw the events of war. 

Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew.' — 



' Ah ! well the gallant brute I knew ! 
The choicest of the prey we had 
When swept our merry men Gallangad. 
His hide was snow, his horns were dark. 
His red eye glowed like fiery spark ; 
So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, 
Sore did he cumber our retreat. 
And kept our stoutest kerns in awe, 
Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. 



204 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



But steep and flinty was the road, 


Or raven on the blasted oak. 


And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad, 


That, watching while the deer is broke. 


And when we came to Dennan's Row 


His morsel claims with sullen croak?' 


A child might scathless stroke his brow.' 






MALISE. 


V. 


• Peace ! peace ! to other than to me 




Thy words were evil augury ; 


NORMAN. 


But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade 


' That bull was slain ; his reeking hide 


Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid. 


They stretched the cataract beside. 


Not aught that, gleaned from heaven or 


Whose waters their wild tumult toss 


hell. 


Adown the black and craggy boss 


Yon fiend-begotten Monk can tell. 




Of that huge cliff whose ample verge 
Tradition calls the Hero's Targe. 
Couched on a shelf beneath its brink, 
Close where the thundering torrents sink. 
Rocking beneath their headlong sway. 
And drizzled by the ceaseless spray, 
Midst groan of rock and roar of stream, 
The wizard waits prophetic dream. 
Nor distant rests the Chief ; — but hush ! 
See, gliding slow through mist and bush. 
The hermit gains yon rock, and stands 
To gaze upon our slumbering bands. 
Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost. 
That hovers o'er a slaughtered host ? 



The Chieftain joins him, see — and now 
Together they descend the brow.' 



And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord 
The Hermit Monk held solemn word: — 
' Roderick ! it is a fearful strife. 
For man endowed with mortal life. 
Whose shroud of sentient clay can still 
Feel feverish pang and fainting chill. 
Whose eye can stare in stony trance. 
Whose hair can rouse like warrior's lance,- 
'T is hard for such to view, unfurled. 
The curtain of the future world. 



THE LADY OF THE LA^E. 





Yet, witness every quaking limb, 

My sunken pulse, mine eyeballs dim, 

My soul with harrowing anguish torn, 

This for my Chieftain have I borne ! — 

The shapes that sought my fearful couch 

A human tongue may ne'er avouch ; 

No mortal man — save he, who, bred 

Between the living and the dead, 

Is gifted beyond nature's law — 

Had e'er survived to say he saw. 

At length the fateful answer came 

In characters of living flame ! 

Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll, 

But borne and branded on my soul : — 

Which spills the foremost foeman's 

LIFE, 

That party conquers in the strife.' 



' Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care ! 

Good is thine augury, and fair. 

Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood 

But first our broadswords tasted blood. 

A surer victim still I know, 

Self-offered to the auspicious blow : 

A spy has sought my land this morn, — 



No eve shall witness his return ! 

My followers guard each pass's mouth, 

To east, to westward, and to south ; 

Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide. 

Has charge to lead his steps aside, 

Till in deep path or dingle brown 

He light on those shall bring him down. 

But see, who comes his news to show ! 

Malise ! what tidings of the foe "i ' 



' At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive 

Two Barons proud their banners wave. 

I saw the Moray's silver star. 

And marked the sable pale of Mar.' 

' By Alpine's soul, high tidings those ! 

I Ipve to hear of worthy foes. 

When move they on ? ' 'To-morrow's noon 

Will see them here for battle boune.' 

' Then shall it see a meeting stern ! 

But, for the place, — say, couldst thou learn 

Nought of the friendly clans of Earn ? 

Strengthened by them, we well might bide 

The battle on Benledi's side. 

Thou couldst not 1 — well ! Clan- Alpine's 



^o6 



SCOTIA'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Shall man the Trosachs' shaggy glen ; 
Within Loch Katrine's gorge we '11 fight, 
All in our maids' and matrons' sight, 
Each for his hearth and household fire. 
Father for child, and son for sire. 
Lover for maid beloved ! — But why — 
Is it the breeze affects mine eye ? 
Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear ! 
A messenger of doubt or fear? 
No ! sooner may the Saxon lance 
Unfix Benledi from his stance, 
Than doubt or terror can pierce through 



Some refuge from impending war. 
When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm 
Are cowed by the approaching storm. 
I saw their boats with many a light. 
Floating the livelong yesternight, 
Shifting like flashes darted forth 
By the red streamers of the north : 
I marked at morn how close they ride. 
Thick moored by the lone islet's side. 
Like wild ducks couching in the fen 
When stoops the hawk upon the glen. 
Since this rude race dare not abide 




The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu ! 
'T is stubborn as his trusty targe. 
Each to his post ! —all know their charge.' 
The pibroch sounds, the bands advance, 
The broadswords gleam, the banners dance, 
Obedient to the Chieftain's glance. — 
I turn me from the martial roar, 
And seek Coir-Uriskin once more. 



Where is the Douglas ? — he is gone : 
And Ellen sits on the gray stone 
Fast by the cave, and makes her moan, 
While vainly Allan's words of cheer 
Are poured on her unheeding ear. 
' He will return — dear lady, trust ! — 
With joy return ; — he will — he must. 
Well was it time to seek afar 



The peril on the mainland side. 
Shall not thy noble father's care 
Some safe retreat for thee prepare ? ' 



' No, Allan, no ! Pretext so kind 
My wakeful terrors could not blind. 
When in such tender tone, yet grave, 
Douglas a parting blessing gave, « 

The tear that glistened in his eye 
Drowned not his purpose fixed and high. 
My soul, though feminine and weak, 
Can image his ; e'en as the lake. 
Itself disturbed by slio;htest stroke. 
Reflects the invulneraole rock. 
He hears report of battle rife. 
He deems himself the cause of strife. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



207 




I saw him redden when the theme 
Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream 
Of Malcolm Graeme in fetters bound. 
Which I, thou saidst, about him wound. 
Think'st thou he trowed thine omen aught ? 
O no ! 'twas apprehensive thought 
For the kind youth, — for Roderick too — 
Let me be just — that friend so true ; 
In danger both, and in our cause ! 
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. 
Why else that solemn warning given, 
" If not on earth, we meet in heaven ! " 
Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane. 
If eve return him not again. 
Am I to hie and make me known ? 
Alas ! he goes to Scotland's throne. 
Buys his friends' safety with his own; 
He goes to do — what I had done, 
Had Douglas' daughter been his son ! ' 

XI. 

' Nay, lovely Ellen ! — dearest, nay ! 
If aught should his return delay. 
He only named yon holy fane 
As fitting place to meet again. 
Be sure he 's safe ; and for the Graeme, — 
Heaven's blessing on his gallant name ! — 
My visioned sight may yet prove true. 
Nor bode of ill to him or yoTi. 



When did my gifted dream beguile ? 
Think of the stranger at the isle. 
And think upon the harpings slow 
That presaged this approaching woe ! 
Sooth was my prophecy of fear; 
Believe it when it augurs cheer. 
Would we had left this dismal spot ! 
Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot. 
Of such a wondrous tale I know — 
Dear lady, change that look of woe. 
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer.' 



' Well, be it as thou wilt ; I hear. 
But cannot stop the bursting tear.' 
The Minstrel tried his simple art, 
But distant far was Ellen's heart. 



XII. 

BallaD. 

ALICE BRAND. 

Merry it is in the good greenwood, 

When the mavis and merle are singing. 

When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds 
are in cry. 
And the hunter's horn is rinsing. 



208 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' O Alice Brand, my native land 

Is lost for love of you ; 
And we must hold by wood and wold. 

As outlaws wont to do. 

' O Alice, 't was all for thy locks so bright. 
And 't was all for thine eyes so blue. 

That on the night of our luckless flight 
Thy brother bold I slew. 

' Now must I teach to hew the beech 
The hand that held the glaive. 

For leaves to spread our lowly bed, 
And stakes to fence our cave. 

' And for vest of pall, thy fingers small. 

That wont on harp to stray, 
A cloak must shear from the slaughtered 
deer, 

To keep the cold away.' 

' O Richard ! if my brother died, 

'T was but a fatal chance ; 
For darkling was the battle tried, 

And fortune sped the lance. 

' If pall and vair no more I wear. 

Nor thou the crimson sheen. 
As warm, we '11 say, is the russet gray. 

As gay the forest-green. 

' And, Richard, if our lot be hard, 

And lost thy native land. 
Still Alice has her own Richard, 

And he his Alice Brand.' 



38allati ConttnuelJ. 

'T is merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood ; 

So blithe Lady Alice is singing ; 
On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, 

Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 

Up spoke the moody Elfin King, 

Who woned within the hill, — 
Like wind in the porch of a ruined church. 

His voice was ghostlv shrill. 







-V 




' Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak. 

Our moonlight circle's screen ? 
Or who comes here to chase the deer. 

Beloved of our Elfin Queen ? 
Or who may dare on wold to wear 

The fairies' fatal green ? 

' Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hie, 
For thou wert christened man : 

For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, 
For muttered word or ban. 

' Lay on him the curse of the withered heart, 
The curse of the sleepless eye ; 

Till he wish and pray that his life would 
part, 
Nor yet find leave to die." 

.\iv. 
BallaJ (JTonttnucD. 
'T is merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, 
Though the birds have stilled their sing- 
ing ; . 
The evening blaze doth Alice raise, 
And Richard is fagots bringing. 

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf. 

Before Lord Richard stands, 
And, as he crossed and blessed himself, 
' I fear not sign,' quoth the grisly elf, 

' That is made with bloody hands.' 

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 

That woman void of fear, — 
' And if there 's blood upon his hand, 

'T is but the blood of deer.' 

' Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood ! . 

It cleaves unto his hand, 
The stain of thine own kindly blood. 

The blood of Ethert Brand.' 

Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand. 

And made the holy sign, — 
' And if there 's blood on Richard's hand, 

A spotless hand is mine. 

' And I conjure thee, demon elf. 

By Him whom demons fear. 
To show us whence tliou art thyself. 

And what thine errand here ? ' 



Ballati Couttnurt. 

' T is merry, 't is merry, in Fairy-land, 
When fairy birds are singing. 

When the court doth ride by their monarch" 
side. 
With bit and bridle ringing : 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



209 



'Andgayly shines the Fairy-land — 

But all is glistening show, 
Like the idle gleam that December's beam 

Can dart on ice and snow. 

' And fading, like that varied gleam, 

Is our inconstant shape, 
Who now like knight and lady seem. 

And now like dwarf and ape. 

' It was between the night and day, 
When the Fairy King has power, 
That I sunk down in a sinful fray, 
And'twixt life and death was snatched away 
To the joyless Elfin bower. 

* But wist I of a woman bold, 
Who thrice my brow durst sign, 

I might regain my mortal mould. 
As fair a form as thine.' 

She crossed him once — she crossed him 
twice — 

That lady was so brave ; 
The fouler grew his goblin hue, 

The darker grew the cave. 

She crossed him thrice, that lady bold; 
He rose beneath her hand 



The fairest knight on Scottish mould, 
Her brother, Ethert Brand ! 

Merry it is in good greenwood, 
■ When the mavis and merle are singing, 
But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray, 
When all the bells were ringins". 



Just as the minstrel sounds were stayed, 

A stranger climbed the steepy glade ; 

His martial step, his stately mien. 

His hunting-suit of Lincoln green. 

His eagle glance, remembrance claims — 

'T is Snowdoun's Knight, 't is James Fitz- 

James. 
Ellen beheld as in a dream, 
Then, starting, scarce suppressed a scream: 
' O stranger ! in such hour of fear 
What evil hap has brought thee here ?' 
' An evil hap how can it be 
That bids me look again on thee ? 
By promise bound, my former guide 
Met me betimes this morning-tide. 
And marshalled over bank and bourne 
The happy path of my return.' 
' The happy path ! — what ! said he naught 
Of war, of battle to be fought. 




2IO 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Of guarded pass ? ' ' No, by my faith ! 
Nor saw I aught could augur scathe.' 
' O haste thee, Allan, to the kern : 
Yonder his tartans I discern ; 
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure 
That he will guide the stranger sure ! — 
What prompted thee, unhappy man ? 
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan 
Had not been bribed, by love or fear, 
Unknown to him to guide thee here.' 



' Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be. 

Since it is worthy care from thee ; 

Yet life I hold but idle breath 

When love or honor 's weighed with death. 

Then let me profit by my chance. 

And speak my purpose bold at once. 

I come to bear thee from a wild 

Where ne'er before such blossom smiled. 

By this soft hand to lead thee far 

From frantic scenes of feud and war. 

Near Bochastle my horses wait; 

They bear us soon to Stirling gate. 

I '11 place thee in a lovely bower, 

I '11 guard thee like a tender flower — ' 

' O hush, Sir Knight ! 't were female art. 

To say I do not read thy heart ; 

Too much, before, my selfish ear 

Was idly soothed my praise to hear. 

That fatal bait hath lured thee back. 

In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track; 

And how, O how, can I atone 

The wreck my vanity brought on ! — 

One way remains — I '11 tell him all — 

Yes ! struggling bosom, forth it shall! 

Thou, whose light folly bears the blame. 

Buy thine own pardon with thy shame ! 

But first — my father is a man 

Outlawed and exiled, under ban ; 

The price of blood is on his head. 

With me 't were infamy to wed. 

Still wouldst thou speak? — then hear the 

truth ! 
F'itz-James, there is a noble youth 
If yet he is ! — exposed for me 
And mine to dread extremity — 
Thou hast the secret of my heart ; 
Forgive, be generous, and depart ! ' 



Fitz-James knew every wily train 
A lady's fickle heart to gain. 
But here he knew and felt them vain. 
There shot no glance from Ellen's eye, 
To give her steadfast speech the lie ; 
In maiden confidence she stood, 
Though mantled in her cheek the blood. 
And told her love with such a sigh 
Of deep and hopeless agony. 



As death had sealed her Malcolm's doom 

And she sat sorrowing on his tomb. 

Hope vanished from Fitz-James's eye. 

But not with hope fled sympathy. 

He proffered to attend her side. 

As brother would a sister guide. 

' O little know'st thou Roderick's heart ! 

Safer for both we go apart. 

O haste thee, and from Allan learn 

If thou mayst trust yon wily kern.' 

With hand upon his forehead laid. 

The conflict of his mind to shade, 

A parting step or two he made ; 

Then, as some thought had crossed his 

brain. 
He paused, and turned, and, came again. 



' Hear, lady, yet a parting word ! — 
It chanced in fight that my poor sword 
Preserved the life of Scotland's lord. 
This ring the grateful Monarch gave, 
And bade, when I had boon to crave. 
To bring it back, and boldly claim 
The recompense that I would name. 
Ellen, I am no courtly lord, 
But one who lives by lance and sword, 
Whose castle is his helm and shield, 
His lordship the embattled field. 
What from a prince can I demand, 
Who neither reck of state nor land ? 
Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine; 
Each guard and usher knows the sign. 
Seek thou the King without delay ; 
This signet shall secure thy way : 
And claim thy suit, whate'er it be. 
As ransom of his pledge to me.' 
He placed the golden circlet on. 
Paused — kissed her hand — and then was 

gone. 
The aged Minstrel stood aghast, 
So hastily Fitz-James shot past. 
He joined his guide, and wending down 
The ridges of the mountain brown, 
Across the stream they took their way 
That joins Loch Katrine to Achray. 



All in the Trosachs' glen was still. 
Noontide was sleeping on the hill : 
Sudden his guide whooped loud and high — 
' Murdoch ! was that a signal cry ? ' — 
He stammered forth, ' I shout to scare 
Yon raven from his dainty fare.' 
He looked — he knew the raven's prey. 
His own brave steed : ' Ah ! gallant gray ! 
For thee — for me, perchance — t' were well 
We ne'er had seen the Trosachs' dell. — ■ 
Murdoch, move first — but silently ; 
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die ! ' 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



211 




Jealous and sullen on they fared, 
Each silent, each upon his guard. 



Now wound the path its dizzy ledge 
Around a precipice's edge, 
When lo ! a wasted female form. 
Blighted by wrath of sun and storm, 
In tattered weeds and wild array. 
Stood on a cliff beside the way, 
And glancing round her restless eye, 
Upon the wood, the rock, the sky. 
Seemed naught to mark, yet all to spy. 
Her brow was wreathed with gaudy broom ; 
With gesture wild she waved a plume 
Of feathers, which the eagles fling 
To crag and cliff from dusky wing; 
Such spoils her desperate step had sought. 



Where scarce was footing for the goat. 
The tartan plaid she first descried. 
And shrieked till all the rocks replied ; 
As loud she laughed when near they drew, 
For then the Lowland garb she knew ; 
And then her hands she wildly wrung. 
And then she wept, and then she sung — 
She sung ! — the voice, in better time, 
Perchance to harp or lute might chime ; 
And now, though strained and roughened, 

still 
Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill. 

XXII. 

Song. 

They bid me sleep, they bid me pray, 
They say my brain is warped and wrung — 



212 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



I cannot sleep on Highland brae, 

I cannot pray in Highland tongue. 
But were I now where Allan glides, 
Or heard my native Devan's tides. 
So sweetly would I rest, and pray 
That Heaven would close my wintry day ! 

'T was thus my hair they bade me braid. 

They made me to the church repair; 
It was my bridal morn they said, 

And my true love would meet me there. 
But woe betide the cruel guile 
That drowned in blood the morning smile 
And woe betide the fairy dream ! 
I only waked to sob and scream. 



I "11 pitch thee from the cliff as far 

As ever peasant pitched a bar ! ' 

'Thanks, champion, thanks!' the Maniac 

cried. 
And pressed her to Fitz-James's side. 
' See the gray pennons I prepare, 
To seek my true love through the air I 
I will not lend that savage groom, 
To break his fall, one downy plume ! 
No ! — deep amid disjointecl stones, 
The wolves shall batten on his bones, 
And then shall his detested plaid, 
By bush and brier in mid-air stayed. 
Wave forth a banner fair and free, 
Meet signal for their revelry/ 




'Who is this maid ? what means her lay ? 
She hovers o'er the hollow way. 
And flutters wide her mantle gray, 
As the lone heron spreads his wing. 
By twilight, o'er a haunted spring.' 
"Tis Blanche of Devan,' Murdoch said, 
' A crazed and captive Lowland maid, 
Ta'en on the morn she was a bride, 
When Roderick forayed Devan-side. 
The gay bridegroom resistance made. 
And felt our Chief's unconquered blade. 
I marvel she is now at large, 
But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's 

charge. — 
Hence, brain-sick fool ! ' — He raised his 

bow : — 
' Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow. 



' Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still ! ' 
' O ! thou look'st kindly, and I will. 
Mine eye has dried and wasted been. 
But still it loves the Lincoln green ; 
And, though mine ear is all unstrung. 
Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue. 

' For O my sweet William was forester true, 
He stole poor Blanche's heart away ! 

His coat it was all of the greenwood hue, 
And so blithely he trilled the Lowland lay ! 

' It was not that I meant to tell . . . 
But thou art wise and guessest well." 
Then, in a low and broken tone, 
And hurried note, the song went on. 
Still on the Clansman fearfully 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



213 




She fixed her apprehensive eye, 

Then turned it on the Knight, and then 

Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen. 



' The toils are pitched, and the stakes are 
set, — 
Ever sing merrily, merrily ; 
The bows they bend, and the knives they 
whet, 
Hunters live so cheerily. 

' It was a stag, a stag of ten, 

Bearing its branches sturdily ; 
He came stately down the glen,^ — 

Ever sing hardily, hardily. 

' It was there he met with a wounded doe. 

She was bleeding deathfully ; 
She warned him of the toils below, 

O, so faithfully, faithfully ! 

' He had an eye, and he could heed, — 

Ever sing warily, warily ; 
He had a foot, and he could speed, — 

Hunters watch so narrowly.' 



XXVI. 

Fitz-James's mind was passion-tossed, 
When Ellen's hints and fears were lost ; 
But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought. 
And Blanche's song conviction brought. 
Not like a stag that spies the snare, 
But lion of the hunt aware. 
He waved at once his blade on high, 
' Disclose thy treachery, or die ! ' 
Forth at full speed the Clansman flew, 
But in his race his bow he drew. 
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest. 
And thrilled inBlanche's faded breast.— 
Murdoch of Alpine ! prove thy speed, 
For ne'er had Alpine's son such need; 
With heart of fire, and foot of wind, 
The fierce avenger is behind ! 
Fate judges of the rapid strife — 
The forfeit death — the prize is life ; 
Thy kindred ambush lies before, 
Close couched upon the heathery moor; 
Them coiildst thou reach ! — it may not be- 
Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shalt see, 
The fiery Saxon gains on thee ! — 
Resistless speeds the deadly thrust, 



214 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



As lightning strikes the pine to dust : 
With foot and hand Fitz-James must strain 
Ere he can win his blade again. 
Bent o'er the fallen with falcon eye, 
He grimly smiled to see him die, 
Then slower wended back his way, 
Where the poor maiden bleeding lay. 



She sat beneath the birchen tree, 

Her elbow resting on her knee : 

She had withdrawn the fatal shaft, 

And gazed on it, and feebly laughed; 

Her wreath of broom and feathers gray, 

Daggled with blood, beside her lay. 

The Knight to stanch the life-stream tried, — 

'Stranger, it is in vain !' she cried. 

'This hour of death has given me more 

Of reason's power than years before ; 

For, as these ebbing veins decay. 

My frenzied visions fade away. 

A helpless injured wretch I die. 

And something tells me in thine eye 

That thou wert mine avenger born. 

Seest thou this tress ? — O, still I 've worn 

This little tress of yellow hair, 

Through danger, frenzy, and despair ! 

It once was bright and clear as thine, 

But blood and tears have dimmed its shine. 

I will not tell thee when 't was shred. 

Nor from what guiltless victim's head, — 

My brain would turn ! — but it shall wave 

Like plumage on thy helmet brave, 

Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain, 

And thou wilt bring it me again. 

I waver still. — O God ! more bright 

Let reason beam her parting light ! — 

O, by thy knighthood's honored sign, 

And for thy life preserved by mine, 



When thou shalt see a darksome man, 
Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's Clan, 
With tartans broad and shadowy plume, 
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom. 
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong, 
And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's 

wrong ! — 
They watch for thee by pass and fell . . . 
Avoid the path . . . O God ! . . . farewell ! ' 



A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James ; 

Fast poured his eyes at pity's claims ; 

And now, with mingled grief and ire, 

He saw the murdered maid expire. 

' God, in my need, be my relief, 

As I wreak this on yonder Chief ! ' 

A lock from Blanche's tresses fair 

He blended with her bridegroom's hair ; 

The mingled braid in blood he dyed, 

And placed it on his bonnet-side : 

' By Him whose word is truth, I swear, 

No other favor will I wear, 

Till this sad token I imbrue 

In the best blood of Roderick Dhu \ — 

But hark ! what means yon faint halloo .'' 

The chase is up, — but they shall know, 

The stag at bay 's a dangerous foe.' 

Barred from the known but guarded way. 

Through copse, and cliffs Fitz-James must 

stray, 
And oft must change his desperate track, 
By stream and precipice turned back. 
Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length, 
From lack of food and loss of strength. 
He couched him in a thicket hoar, 
And thought his toils and perils o'er : — 
' Of all my rash adventures past. 
This frantic feat must prove the last ! 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



215 




Who e'er so mad but might have guessed 
That all this Highland hornet's nest 
Would muster up in swarms so soon » 
As e'er they heard of bands at Doune ? — 
Like bloodhounds now they search me 

out, — 
Hark, to the whistle and the shout! — 
If farther through the wilds I go, 
I only fall upon the foe : 
I '11 couch me here till evening gray. 
Then darkling try my dangerous way.' 



The shades of eve come slowly down, 
The woods are wrapt in deeper brown, 
The owl awakens from her dell, 
The fox is heard upon the fell ; 
Enough remains of glimmering light 
To guide the wanderer's steps aright, 
Yet not enough from far to show 
His figure to the watchful foe. 
With cautious step and ear awake, 
He climbs the crag and threads the brake ; 
And not the summer solstice there 
Tempered the midnight mountain air. 
But every breeze that swept the wold 
Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold. 
In dread, in danger, and alone. 



Famished and chilled, through ways un- 
known. 
Tangled and steep, he journeyed on; 
Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, 
A watch-fire close before him burned. 

XXX. 

Beside its embers red and clear. 

Basked in his plaid a mountaineer; 

And up he sprung with sword in hand, ^ 

' Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, stand ! ' 

' A stranger.' ' What dost thou require .'' ' 

' Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 

My life's beset, my path is lost. 

The gale has chilled my limbs with frost.' 

'Art thou a friend to Roderick ?' ' No.' 

' Thou dar'st not call thyself a foe ? " 

' I dare ! to him and all the band 

He brings to aid his murderous hand." 

' Bold words ! — but, though the beast of 

game 
The privilege of chase may claim. 
Though space and law the stag we lend, 
Ere hound we slip or bow we bend. 
Who ever recked, where, how, or when. 
The prowling fox was trapped or slain ? 
Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure they 

lie. 



2l6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Who say thou cam'st a secret spy ! " — 
' They do, by heaven ! — come Roderick 

Dhu, 
And of his clan the boldest two, 
And let me but till morning rest, 
I write the falsehood on their crest.' 
' If by the blaze I mark aright. 
Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight.' 
' Then by these tokens mayst thou know 
Each proud oppressor's mortal foe.' 
' Enough, enough ; sit down and share 
A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare.' 



He gave him of his Highland cheer, 
The hardened flesh of mountain deer ; 
Dry fuel on the fire he laid. 
And bade the Saxon share his plaid. 
fie tended him like welcome guest, 
Then thus his further speech addressed : 
' Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 
A clansman born, a kinsman true : 
Each word against his honor spoke 
Demands of me avenging stroke ; 
Yet more, — upon thy fate, 't is said, 
A mighty augury is laid. 



It rests with me to wind my horn, — 
Thou art with numbers overborne ; 
It rests with me, here, brand to brand. 
Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand : 
But. not for clan, nor kindred's cause, 
Will I depart from honor's laws ; 
To assail a wearied man were shame. 
And stranger is a holy name ; 
Guidance and rest, and food and fire, 
In vain he never must require. 
Then rest thee here till dawn of day ; 
Myself will guide thee on the way, 
O'er stock and stone, through watch and 

ward, 
Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard, 
As far as Coilantogle's ford ; 
From thence thy warrant is thy sword." 
' I take thy courtesy, by heaven. 
As freely as 't is nobly given ! ' 
'Well, rest thee; for the bittern's cry 
Sings us the lake's wild lullaby.' 
With that he shook the gathered heath. 
And spread his plaid upon the wreath ; 
And the brave foemen, side by side. 
Lay peaceful down like brothers tried, 
And slept until the dawning beam 
Purpled the mountain and the stream. 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



217 




Wqi Ealig of \\i 3Lakc. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



THE COMBAT. 



Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light, 
When first, by the bewildered pilgrim 
spied, 
It smiles upon the dreary brow of night, 
And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming 
tide. 
And lights the fearful path on mountain- 
side, — 
Fair as that beam, although the fairest 
far, 
Giving to horror grace, to danger pride. 
Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright 
star. 
Through all the wreckful storms that cloud 
the brow of War. 

II. 
That early beam, so fair and sheen, 
Was twinkling through the hazel screen. 
When, rousing at its glimmer red. 
The warriors left their lowly bed, 
Looked out upon the dappled sky, 
Muttered their soldier matins by. 
And then awaked their fire, to steal, 
As short and rude, their soldier meal. 
That o'er, the Gael around him threw 
His graceful plaid of varied hue. 
And, true to promise, led the way. 
By thicket green and mountain gray. 
A wildering path ! — they winded now 
Along the precipice's brow, 



Commanding the rich scenes beneath. 
The windings of the Forth and Teith, 
And all the vales between that lie. 
Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky ; 
Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance 
Gained not the length of horseman's lance. 
'T was oft so steep, the foot was fain 
Assistance from the hand to gain ; 
So tangled oft that, bursting through. 
Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew, — 
That diamond dew, so pure and clear. 
It rivals all but Beauty's tear ! 



At length they came where, stern and steep. 
The hill sinks down upon the deep. 
Here Vennachar in silver flows. 
There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose ; 
Ever the hollow path twined on. 
Beneath steep bank and threatening stone ; 
A hundred men might hold the post 
With hardihood against a host. 
The rugged mountain's scanty cloak 
Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak. 
With shingles bare, and cliffs between. 
And patches bright of bracken green, 
And heather black, that waved so high. 
It held the copse in rivalry. 
But where the lake slept deep and still. 
Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill ; 
And oft both path and hill were torn. 
Where wintrv torrent down had borne. 
And heaped upon the cumbered land 
Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand. 
So toilsome was the road to trace. 
The guide, abating of his pace. 
Led slowly through the pass's jaws. 
And asked Fitz-James by what strange cause 



2l8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He sought these wilds, traversed by few. 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. 



' Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried. 
Hangs in my belt and by my side ; 
Yet, sooth to tell,' the Saxon said, 
' I dreamt not now to claim its aid. 
When here, but three days since, 1 came. 
Bewildered in pursuit of game, 
All seemed as peaceful and as still 
As the mist slumbering on yon hill : 
Thy dangerous Chief was then afar, 
Nor soon expected back from war. 
Thus said, at least, my mountain-guide, 
Though deep perchance the villain lied.' 
' Yet why a second venture try ? ' 
' A warrior thou, and ask me why ! — 
Moves our free course by such fixed cause 
As gives the poor mechanic laws ? 
Enough, I sought to drive away 
The lazy hours of peaceful day : 
Slight cause will then suffice to guide 
A Knight's free footsteps far and wide, — 
A falcon flown, a greyhound strayed. 
The merry glance of mountain maid : 
Or, if a path be dangerous known. 
The danger's self is lure alone.' 



•* Thy secret keep, I urge thee not : — 
Yet, ere again ye sought this spot. 
Say, heard ye naught of Lowland war. 
Against Clan-Alpine, raised by Mar?' 
' No, by my word ; — of bands prepared 
To guard King James's sports I heard ; 
Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear 
This muster of the mountaineer. 
Their pennons will abroad be flung. 
Which else in Doune had peaceful hung.' 
' Free be they flung ! for we were loath 
Their silken folds should feast the moth. 
Free be they flung! — as free shall wave 
Clan-Alpine's pine in banner brave. 
But, stranger, peaceful since you came, 
Bewildered in the mountain-game. 
Whence the bold boast by which you 

show 
Vich-Alpine's vowed and mortal foe.'' " 
' Warrior, but yester-morn I knew 
Naught of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 
Save as an outlawed desperate man. 
The chief of a rebellious clan, 
Who, in the Regent's court and sight. 
With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight ; 
Yet this alone might from his part 
Sever each true and loyal heart.' 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



219 



Wrathful at such arraignment foul, 
Dark lowered the clansman's sable scowl. 
A space he paused, then sternly said, 
'And heardst thou why he drew his blade? 
Heardst thou that shameful word and blow- 
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe ? 
What recked the Chieftain if he stood 
On Highland heath or Holy-Rood? 
He rights such wrong where it is given. 
If it were in the court of heaven.' 



These fertile plains, that softened vale, 
Were once the birthright of the Gael ; 
The stranger came with iron hand, 
And from our fathers reft the land. 
Where dwell we now ? See, rudely swell 
Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 
Ask we this savage hill we tread 
For fattened steer or household bread, 
Ask we for flocks these shingles dry, 
And well the mountain might reply, — 
" To you, as to your sires of yore, • 







' Still was it outrage ; — yet, 't is true. 
Not then claimed sovereignty his due ; 
While Albany with feeble hand 
Held borrowed truncheon of command, 
The young King, mewed in Stirling tower. 
Was stranger to respect and power. 
But then, thy Chieftain's robber life ! — 
Winning mean prey by causeless strife, 
Wrenching from ruined Lowland swain 
His herds and harvest reared in vain, — 
Methinks a soul like thine should scorn 
The spoils from such foul foray borne.' 



The Gael beheld him grim the while. 

And answered with disdainful smile : 

'■ Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 

I marked thee send delighted eye 

Far to the south and east, where lay. 

Extended in succession gay. 

Deep waving fields and pastures green, 

With gentle slopes and groves between : — 



Belong the target and claymore ! 

I give you shelter in my breast. 

Your own good blades must win the rest." 

Pent in this fortress of the North, 

Think'st thou we will not sally forth, 

To spoil the spoiler as we may. 

And from the robber rend the prey? 

Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 

The Saxon rears one shock of grain. 

While of ten thousand herds there strays 

But one along yon river's maze, — 

The Gael, of plain and river heir, 

Shall with strong hand redeem his share. 

Where live the mountain Chiefs who hold 

That plundering Lowland field and fold 

Is aught but retribution true? 

Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu.' 

VIII. 

Answered Fitz-James : ' And, if I sought, 
Think'st thou no other could be brought? 
What deem ye of my path waylaid ? 



230 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




My life given o'er to ambuscade ?' 

' As of a meed to rashness due : 

Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, — 

I seek my hound or falcon strayed, 

I seek, good faith, a Highland maid, — 

Free hadst thou been to come and go : 

But secret path marks secret foe. 

Nor yet for this, even as a spy, 

Hadst thou, unheard, been doomed to die. 

Save to fulfil an augury.' 

' Well, let it pass ; nor will I now 

Fresli cause of enmity avow. 

To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 

Enough, I am by promise tied 

To match me with this man of pride : 

Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen 

In peace ; but when I come again, 

I come with banner, brand, and bow. 

As leader seeks iiis mortal foe. 

For love-lorn swain in lady's bower 

Ne'er panted for the appointed hour. 

As I, until before me stand 

This rebel Cliieftain and his band ! ' 



' Have then thy wish ! ' — He whistled shrill. 
And he was answered from the hill : 
Wild as the scream of the curlew. 
From crag to crag the signal flew. 
Instant, through copse and heath, arose 
Bonnets and spears and bended bows ; 
On right, on left, above, below, 
Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 
From shingles gray their lances start, 
The bracken bush sends forth the dart. 
The rushes and tlie willow-wand 
Are bristling into axe and brand. 
And every tuft of broom gives life 
To plaided warrior armed for strife. 
That whistle garrisoned the glen 
At once with full five hundred men. 
As if the yawning hill to heaven 
A subterranean liost had given. 
Watching their leader's beck and will. 
All silent there they stood and still. 
Like the loose crags whose threatening mass 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



221 



Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, 
As if an infant's touch could urge 
Their headlong passage down the verge, 
With step and weapon forward Hung, 
Upon the mountain-side they hung. 
The Mountaineer cast glance of pride 
Along Benledi's living side, 
Then fixed his eye and sable brow 
Full on Fitz-James : ' How say'st thou now ? 
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true ; 
And, Saxon, — I am Roderick Dhu ! ' 



Fitz-James was brave : — though to his heart 
The life-blood thrilled with sudden start. 
He manned himself with dauntless air, 
Returned the Chief his haughty stare, 
His back against a rock he bore. 
And firmly placed his foot before : — 
' Come one, come all ! this_rock shall fly 
From its firm base as soon as I.' 
Sir Roderick marked, — and in his eyes 
Respect was mingled with surprise, 
And the stern joy which warriors feel 
In foeman worthy of their steel. 
Short space he stood — then waved his 

hand : 
Down sunk the disappearing band ; 
Each warrior vanished where he stood. 
In broom or bracken, heath or wood ; 
.Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, 
In osiers pale and copses low ; 
It seemed as if their mother Earth 
Had swallowed up her warlike birth. 
The wind's last breath had tossed in air 
Pennon and plaid and plumage fair, — 



The next but swept a lone hill-side, 
Where heath and fern were waving wide : 
The sun's last glance was glinted back 
From spear and glaive, from targe and jack : 
The next, all unreflected, shone 
On bracken green and cold gray stone. 



Fitz-James looked round, — yet scarce be- 
lieved 
The witness that his sight received; 
Such apparition well might seem 
Delusion of a dreadful dream. 
.Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, 
And to his look the Chief replied : 
' Fear naught — nay, that I need not say — 
But — doubt not aught from mine array. 
Thou art my guest ; — I pledged my word 
As far as Coilantogle ford : 
Nor would I call a clansman's brand 
For aid against one valiant hand, 
Though on our strife lay every vale 
Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. 
So move we on ; — I only meant 
To show the reed on which you leant, 
Deeming this path you might pursue 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.' 
They mDved ; — I said Fitz-James was brave 
As ever knight that belted glaive. 
Yet dare not say that now his blood 
Kept on its wont and tempered flood. 
As, following Roderick's stride, he drew 
That seeming lonesome pathway through, 
Which yet by fearful proof was rife 
With lances, that, to take his life, 
Waited but signal from a guide, 




222 



SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. 



So late dishonored and defied. 
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round 
The vanished guardians of the ground, 
And still from copse and heather deep 
Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep. 
And in the plover's shrilly strain 
The signal whistle heard again. 
Nor breathed he free till far behind 
The pass was left ; for then they wind 
Along: a wide and level green, 



This head of a rebellious clan, 

Hath led thee safe, through watch and 

ward, 
Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. 
Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 
A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. 
See, here all vantageless I stand. 
Armed like thyself with single brand : 
For this is Coilantogle ford. 
And thou must keep thee with thy sword.' 




Where neither tree nor tuft was seen. 
Nor rush nor bush of broom was near, 
To hide a bonnet or a spear. 

XII. 

The Chief in silence strode before, 
And reached that torrent's sounding shore, 
Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, 
From Vennachar in silver breaks, 
Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless 

mines 
On Bochastle the mouldering lines. 
Where Rome, the Empress of the world. 
Of yore her eagle wings unfurled. 
And here his course the Chieftain stayed, 
Threw down his target and his plaid. 
And to the Lowland warrior said : 
' Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 
Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust. 
This murderous Chief, this ruthless man, 



The Saxon paused : ' I ne"er delayed, 
When foeman bade me draw my blade ; 
Nay more, brave Chief, I vowed thy deatli ; 
Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, 
And my deep debt for life preserved. 
A better meed have well deserved : 
Can naught but blood our feud atone? 
Are there no means ? " — ' No, stranger, 

none ! 
And hear, — to fire thy flagging zeal, — 
The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ; 
For thus spoke Fate by prophet bred 
Between the living and the dead : 
" Who spills the foremost foeman's life. 
His party conquers in the strife." ' 
' Then, by my word,' the Saxon said, 
' The riddle is already read. 
Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff, — 
There lies Red. Murdoch, stark and stiff. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



(23 



Thus Fate hath solved her prophecy ; 
Then yield to Fate, and not to me. 
To James at Stirhng let us go, 
When, if thou wilt be still his foe, 
Or if the King shall not agree 
To grant thee grace and favor free. 



Not yet prepared ? — By heaven, I change 
My thought, and hold thy valor light 
As that of some vain carpet knight. 
Who ill deserved my courteous care, 
And whose best boast is but to wear 
A braid of his fair lady's hair.' 




I plight mine honor, oath, and word 
That, to thy native strengths restored. 
With each advantage shalt thou stand 
That aids thee now to guard thy land.' 



Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye 
' Soars thy presumption, then, so high. 
Because a wretched kern ye slew. 
Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ? 
He yields not, he. to man nor Fate ! 
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate ; — 
Mv clansman's blood demands revenere. 



' I thank thee, Roderick, for the word ! 
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ; 
For I have sworn this braid to stain 
In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
Now, truce, farewell ! and, ruth, begone ! — 
Yet think not that by thee alone, 
Proud Chief ! can courtesy be shown ; 
Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, 
Start at my whistle clansmen stern, 
Of this small horn one feeble blast 
Would fearful odds against thee cast. 
But fear not — doubt not — which thou 

wilt — 
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt.' 



2 24 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




Then each at once his falchion drew, 
Each on the ground his scabbard threw, 
Each looked to sun and stream and plain 
As what they ne'er might see again ; 
Then foot and point and eye opposed. 
In dubious strife they darkly closed. 



Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
That on the field his targe he threw, 
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide 
Had death so often dashed aside ; 
For, trained abroad his arms to wield, 
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. 
He practised every pass and ward. 
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 
While less expert, though stronger far, 
The Gael maintained unequal war. 
Three times in closing strife they stood, 
And tiirice the Saxon blade drank blood 
No stinted draught, no scanty tide, 
The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 



Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, 
And showered his blows like wintry rain ; 
And, as firm rock or castle-roof 
Against the winter shower is proof. 
The foe, invulnerable still. 
Foiled his wild rage by steady skill ; 
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, 
And backward borne upon the lea. 
Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee. 

XVI. 

' Now yield thee, or by Him who made 
The world, thy heart's blood dyes mv 

blade ! ' 
' Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
Let recreant yield, who fears to die.' 
Like adder darting from his coil. 
Like wolf that dashes through the toil. 
Like mountain-cat who guards her young, 
Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung ; 
Received, but recked not of a wound, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



225 



And locked his arms his foeman round. — 
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! 
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! 
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel 
Through bars of brass and triple steel ! 
They tug, they strain ! down, down they go, 
The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 
The Chieftain's gripe his throat compressed. 
His knee was planted on his breast; 
His clotted locks he backward threw. 
Across his brow his hand he drew, 
From blood and mist to clear his sight, 
Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright ! 
But hate and fury ill supplied 
The stream of life's exhausted tide. 
And all too late the advantage came, 
To turn the odds of deadly game ; 
For, while the dagger gleamed on high. 
Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and 

eye. 
Down came the blow ! but in the heath 
The erring blade found bloodless sheath. 
The struggling foe may now unclasp 
The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp ; 
Unwounded from the dreadful close. 
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. 



He faltered thanks to Heaven for life. 
Redeemed, unhoped, from desperate strife : 
Next on his foe his look he cast. 
Whose every gasp appeared his last ; 
In Roderick's gore he dipped the braid. — 



' Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are dearly paid ; 

Yet with thy foe must die, or live. 

The praise that faith and valor give.' 

With that he blew a bugle note. 

Undid the collar from his throat, 

Unbonneted, and by the wave 

Sat down his brow and hands to lave. 

Then faint afar are heard the feet 

Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet ; 

The sounds increase, and now are seen 

Four mounted squires in Lincoln green : 

Two who bear lance, and two who lead 

By loosened rein a saddled steed ; 

Each onward held his headlong course. 

And by Fitz-James reined up his horse, — 

With wonder viewed the bloody spot, — 

' Exclaim not, gallants ! question not. — 

You, Herbert and Luffness, alight, 

And bind the wounds of yonder knight; 

Let the gray palfrey bear his weight. 

We destined for a fairer freight, 

And bring him on to Stirling straight ; 

I will before at better speed, 

To seek fresh horse and fitting weed. 

The sun rides high : — I must be boune 

To see the archer-game at noon : 

But lightly Bayard clears the lea. — 

De Vaux and Herries, follow me. 



' Stand, Bayard, stand ! ' — the steed obeyed, 
With arching neck and bended head. 
And glancing eye and quivering ear, 
As if he loved his lord to hear. 




* V -^ '-*='- «"' --'V'-i.l^^f ^ 



226 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



No foot Fitz-James in stirrup stayed, 
No grasp upon the saddle laid, 
But wreathed his left hand in the mane, 
And lightly bounded from the plain, 
Turned on the horse his armed heel. 
And stirred his courage with the steel. 
Bounded the fiery steed in air, 



And on the opposing shore take ground. 
With plash, with scramble, and with bound. 
Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig- 

Forth ! 
And soon the bulwark of the North, 
Gray Stirling, with her towers and town. 
Upon their fleet career looked down. 




The rider sat erect and fair. 
Then like a bolt from steel crossbow 
Forth launched, along the plain they go. 
They dashed that rapid torrent through. 
And up Carhonie's hill they flew; 
Still at the gallop pricked the Knight, 
His merrymen followed as they might. 
Along thy banks, swift Teith, they ride. 
And in the race they mock thy tide ; 
Torry and Lendrick now are past. 
And Deanstovvn lies behind them cast ; 



XIX. 

As up the flinty path they strained, 
Sudden his steed the leader reined; 
A signal to his squire he flung. 
Who instant to his stirrup sprung: — 
' Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gray. 
Who townward holds the rocky way. 
Of stature tall and poor array ? 
Mark'st thou the firm, yet active stride. 
With which he scales the mountain-side .'* 




They rise, the bannered towers of Doune, 
They sink in distant woodland soon ; 
Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire. 
They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre ; 
They mark just glance and disappear 
The lofty brow of ancient Kier ; 
They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides, 
Dark Forth ! amid thy sluggish tides. 



Know'st thou from whence he comes, or 

whom ? ' 
' No, by my word ; — a burly groom 
He seems, who in the field or chase 
A baron's train would nobly grace — ' 
' Out, out, De Vaux ! can fear supply, 
And jealousy, no sharper eye .'' 
Afar, ere to the hill he drew, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



227 




That stately form and step I knew ; 
Like form in Scotland is not seen, 
Treads not such step on Scottish green. 
'T is James of Douglas, by Saint Serle ! 
The uncle of the banished Earl. 
Away, away, to court, to show 
The near approach of dreaded foe : 
The King must stand upon his guard; 
Douglas and he must meet prepared.' 
Then right-hand wheeled their steeds, and 

straight 
They won the Castle's postern gate. 



The Douglas who had bent his way 
From Cambus-kenneth's abbey gray. 
Now, as he climbed the rocky shelf, 
-Held sad communion with himself : — 
' Yes ! all is true my fears could frame ; 
A prisoner lies the noble Grteme, 
And fiery Roderick soon will feel 
The vengeance of the royal steel. 
I, only I, can ward their fate, — 
God grant the ransom come not late ! 
The Abbess hath her promise given. 
My child shall be the bride of Heaven ; 
Be pardoned one repining tear ! 
For He who gave her knows how dear. 
How excellent ! — but that is by, 
And now my business is — to die. — 
Ye towers ! within whose circuit dread 
A Douglas by his sovereign bled ; 
And thou, O sad and fatal mound ! 



That oft hast heard the death-axe sound. 

As on the noblest of the land 

Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand, — 

The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb 

Prepare — for Douglas seeks his doom ! 

But hark ! what blithe and jolly peal 

Makes the Franciscan steeple reel .'' 

And see ! upon the crowded street. 

In motley groups what masquers meet ! 

Banner and pageant, pipe and drum, 

And merry morrice-dancers come. 

I guess, by all this cjuaint array,. 

The burghers hold their sports to-day. 

James will be there ; he loves such show, 

Where the good yeoman bends his bow. 

And the tough wrestler foils his foe. 

As well as where, in proud career, 

The high-born tilter shivers spear. 

I '11 follow to the Castle-park, 

And play my prize; — King James shall 

mark 
If age has tamed these sinews stark. 
Whose force so oft in happier days 
His boyish wonder loved to praise.' 



The Castle gates were open flung, 

The quivering drawbridge rocked and rung, 

And echoed loud the flinty street 

Beneath the courser's clattering feet, 

As slowly down the steep descent 

Fair Scotland's King and nobles went. 

While all along the crowded way 



228 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Was jubilee and loud huzza. 

And ever James was bending low 

To his white jennet's saddle-bow, 

Doffing his cap to city dame, 

Who smiled and blushed for pride and 

shame. 
And well the simperer might be vain, — 
He chose the fairest of the train. 
Gravely he greets each city sire, 
Commends each pageant's quaint attire, 
Gives to the dancers thanks aloud, 
And smiles and nods upon the crowd. 
Who rend the heavens with their acclaims, — 
' Long live the Commons' King, King James !' 



XXII. 

Now, in the Castle-park, drew out 
Their checkered bands the joyous rout. 
There morricers, with bell at heel 
And blade in hand, their mazes wheel ; 
But chief, beside the butts, there stand 
Bold Robin Hood and all his band, — 
Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl, 
Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl, 
Maid Marian, fair as ivory bone, 
Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John ; 
Their bugles challenge all that will. 
In archery to jDrove their skill. 
The Douglas bent a bow of mioht, — 







Behind the King thronged peer and knight, 
And noble dame and damsel bright. 
Whose fiery steeds ill brooked the stay 
Of the steep street and crowded way. 
But in the train you might discern 
Dark lowering brow and visage stern ; 
There nobles mourned their pride restrained, 
And the mean burgher's joys disdained ; 
And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan. 
Were each from home a banished man, 
There thought upon their own gray tower, 
Their waving woods, their feudal power, 
And deemed themselves a shameful part 
Of pageant which they cursed in heart. 



His first shaft centred in the white, 

And when in turn he shot again, 

His second split the first in twain. 

From the King's hand must Douglas take 

A silver dart, the archer's stake; 

Fondly he watched, with watery eye. 

Some answering glance of sympathy, — 

No kind emotion made reply ! 

Indifferent as to archer wight. 

The monarch save the arrow bright. 



Now, clear the ring ! for, hand to hand, 
The manly wrestlers take their stand. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



229 














Two o'er the rest superior rose, 

And proud demanded mightier foes, — 

Nor called in vain, for Douglas came. — 

For life is Hugh of Larbert lame ; 

Scarce better John of Alloa's fare. 

Whom senseless home his comrades bare. 

Prize of the wrestling match, the King 

To Douglas gave a golden ring, 

While coldly glanced his eye of blue. 

As frozen drop of wintry dew. 

Douglas would speak, but in his breast 

His struggling soul his words suppressed : 

Indignant then he turned him where 

Their arms the brawny yeomen bare, 

To hurl the massive bar in air. 

When each his utmost strength had shown, 

The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone 

From its deep bed, then heaved it high. 

And sent the fragment through the sky 

A rood beyond the farthest mark : 

And still in Stirling's royal park. 

The gray-haired sires, who know the past, 

To strangers point the Douglas cast. 

And moralize on the decay 

Of Scottish strength in modern day. 



The vale with loud applauses rang. 
The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang. 
The King, with look unmoved, bestowed 
A purse well filled with pieces broad. 
Indignant smiled the Douglas proud, 
And threw the gold afnong the crowd, 
Who now with anxious wonder scan. 
And sharper glance, the dark gray man ; 
Till whispers rose among the throng, 



That heart so free, and hand so strong, 
Must to the Douglas blood belong. 
The old men marked and shook the head, 
To see his hair with silver spread. 
And winked aside, and told each son 
Of feats upon the English done. 
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand 
Was exiled from his native land. 
The women praised his stately form, 
Though wrecked by many a winter's storm 
The youth with awe and wonder saw 
His strength surpassing Nature's law. 
Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd, 
Till murmurs rose to clamors loud. 
But not a glance from that proud ring 
Of peers who circled round the King 
With Douglas held communion kind, 
Or called the banished man to mind ; 
No, not from those who at the chase 
Once held his side the honored place, 
Begirt his board, and in the field 
Found safety underneath his shield ; 
For he whom royal eyes disown. 
When was his form to courtiers known ! 



The Monarch saw the gambols flag, 
And bade let loose a gallant stag, 
Whose pride, the holiday to crown. 
Two favorite greyhounds should pull down. 
That venison free and Bourdeaux wine 
Might serve the archery to dine. 
But Lufra, — whom from Douglas' side 
Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide, 
The fleetest hound in all the North, — 
Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth. 



230 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



She left the royal hounds midway, 
And dashing on the antlered prey, 
Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank. 
And deep the flowing life-blood drank. 
The king's stout huntsman saw the sport 
By strange intruder broken short, 
Came up, and with his leash unbound 
In anger struck the noble hound. 
The Douglas had endured, that morn. 
The King's cold look, the nobles' scorn, 
And last, and worst to spirit proud, 
Had borne the pity of the crowd ; 
But Lufra had been fondly bred, 
To share his board, to watch his bed. 
And oft would Ellen Lufra's neck 
In maiden glee with garlands deck ; 
They were such playmates that with name 
Of Lufra Ellen's image came. 
His stifled wrath is brimming high, 
In darkened brow and flashing eye ; 
As waves before the bark divide. 
The crowd gave way before his stride : 
Needs but a buffet and no more. 
The groom lies senseless in his gore. 
Such blow no other hand could deal, 
Though gauntleted in glove of steel. 

XXVI. 

Then clamored loud the royal train, 
And brandished swords and staves amain. 
But stern the Baron's warning : ' Back ! 
Back, on your lives, ye menial pack ! 
Beware the Douglas. — Yes ! behold, 
King James ! The Douglas, doomed of 

old, 
And vainly sought for near and far, 
A victim to atone the war, 
A willing victim, now attends, 
Nor craves thy grace but for his friends. — ' 
' Thus is my clemency repaid ? 
Presumptuous Lord!' the Monarch said: 
• Of thy misproud ambitious clan. 
Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man, 
The only man, in whom a foe 
My woman-mercy would not know ; 
But shall a Monarch's presence brook 
Injurious blow and haughty look ? — 
What ho ! the Captain of our Guard ! 
Give the offender fitting ward. — 
Break off the sports! ' — for tumult rose. 
And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows, — 
' Break off the sports ! ' he said and frowned, 
' And bid our horsemen clear the ground.' 

XXVII. 

Then uproar wild and misarray 
Marred the fair form of festal day. 
The horsemen pricked among the crowd. 
Repelled by threats and insult loud ; 
To earth are borne the old and weak. 



The timorous fly, the women shriek ; 
With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar. 
The hardier urge tumultuous war. 
At once round Douglas darkly sweep 
The royal spears in circle deej), 
And slowly scale the pathway steep. 
While on the rear in thunder pour 
The rabble with disordered roar. 
With grief the noble Douglas saw 
The Commons rise against the law. 
And to the leading soldier said : 
' Sir John of Hyndford, 't was my blade. 
That knighthood on thy shoulder laid; 
For that good deed permit me then 
A word with these misguided men. — 

XXVIII. 

' Hear, gentle friends, ere yet for me 

Ye break the bands of fealty. 

My life, my honor, and my cause, 

I tender free to Scotland's laws. 

Are these so weak as must require 

The aid of your misguided ire ? 

Or if I suffer causeless wrong. 

Is then my selfish rage so strong. 

My sense of public weal so low. 

That, for mean vengeance on a foe. 

Those cords of love I should unbind 

Which knit my country and my kind ? 

O no ! Believe, in yonder tower 

It will not soothe m^ captive hour, 

To know those spears our foes should dread 

For me in kindred gore are red : 

To know, in fruitless brawl begun. 

For me that mother wails her son. 

For me that widow's mate expires. 

For me that orphans weep their sires. 

That patriots mourn insulted laws. 

And curse the Douglas for the cause. 

O let your patience ward such ill. 

And keep your right to love me still ! ' 



The crowd's wild fury sunk again 

In tears, as tempests melt in rain. 

With lifted hands and eyes, they prayed 

For blessings on his generous head 

Who for his country felt alone. 

And prized her blood beyond his own. - 

Old men upon the verge of life 

Blessed him who stayed the civil strife ; 

And mothers held their babes on high. 

The self-devoted Chief to spy,_ 

Triumphant over wrongs and ire, 

To whom the prattlers owed a sire. 

Even the rough soldier's heart was moved; 

As if behind some bier beloved, 

With trailing arms and drooping head. 

The Douglas up the hill he led. 

And at the Castle's battled verge. 

With sighs resigned his honored charge. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



231 



The offended Monarch rode apart, 
With bitter thought and swelling heart, 
And .would not now vouchsafe again 
Through Stirling streets to lead his train. 
' O Lennox, who would wish to rule 
This changeling crowd, this common fool ? 
Hear'st thou,' he said, ' the loud acclaim 
With which they shout the Douglas name? 
With like acclaim the vulgar throat 
Strained for King James their morning note ; 



I guess his cognizance afar — 

What from our cousin, John of Mar?' 

' He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound 

Within the safe and guarded ground; 

For some foul purpose yet unknown, — 

Most sure for evil to the throne, — 

The outlawed Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 

Has summoned his rebellious crew; 

'T is said, in James of Bothwell's aid 

These loose banditti stand arrayed. 

The Earl of Mar this morn from Doune 




With like acclaim they hailed the day 
When first I broke the Douglas sway ; 
And like acclaim would Douglas greet 
If he could hurl me from my seat. 
Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, 
Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain? 
Vain as the leaf upon the stream. 
And fickle as a changeful dream ; 
Fantastic as a woman's mood, 
And fierce as Frenzy's fevered blood. 
Thou many-headed monster-thing, 
O who would wish to be thy king? — 

XXXI. 

' But soft ! what messenger of speed 
Spurs hitherward his panting steed ? 



To break their muster marched, and soon 
Your Grace will hear of battle fought ; 
But earnestly the Earl besought. 
Till for such danger he provide. 
With scanty train you will not ride.' 

XXXII. 

' Thou warn'st me I have done amiss, — 
I should have earlier looked to this ; 
I lost it in this bustling day. — 
Retrace with speed thy former way ; 
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed, 
The best of mine shall be thy meed. 
Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, 
We do forbid the intended war : 
Roderick this morn in single fight 



232 



scorrs poetical works. 



Was made our prisoner by a knight, 
And Douglas hath himself and cause 
Submitted to our kingdom's laws. 
The tidings of their leaders lost 
Will soon dissolve the mountain host, 
Nor would we that the vulgar feel. 
For their Chief's crimes, avenging steel. 
Bear Mar our message, Braco, fly ! ' 
He turned his steed, — ' My liege, I hie. 
Yet ere I cross this lily lawn 
I fear the broadswords will be drawn.' 
The turf the flying courser spurned, 
And to his towers the King; returned. 



Ill with King James's mood that day 
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay ; 
Soon were dismissed the courtly throng, 
And soon cut short the festal songf. 



Nor less upon the saddened town 

The evening sunk in sorrow down. 

The burghers spoke of civil jar. 

Of rumored feuds and mountain war, 

Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu, 

All up in arms ; — the Douglas too. 

They mourned him pent within the hold. 

'Where stout Earl William was of old.' — 

And there hi« word the speaker stayed. 

And linger on his lip he laid. 

Or pointed to his dagger blade. 

But jaded horsemen from the west 

At evening to the Castle pressed, 

And busy talkers said they bore 

Tidings of fight on Katrine's shone ; 

At noon the deadly fray begun. 

And Jasted till the set of sun. 

Thus giddy rumor shook the town, 

Till closed the Night her pennons brown. 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



233 




West ILalig of tlje ILakc. 

CANTO SIXTH. 
THE GUARD-ROOM. 



The sun, awakening, through the smoky air 

Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, 
Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, 

Of sinful man the sad inheritance ; 
Summoning revellers from the lagging 
dance, 
Scaring the prowling robber to his den ; 
Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance, 
And warning student pale to leave his 
pen. 
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse 
of men. 

What various scenes, and O, what scenes 
of woe, 
Are witnessed by that red and struggling 
beam ! 
The fevered patient, from his pallet low. 
Through crowded hospital beholds it 
stream ; - 
The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam, 
The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and 
jail. 



The love-lorn wretch starts from torment- 
ing dream ; 
The wakeful mother, by the glimmering 
pale. 

Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes 
his feeble wail. 



At dawn the towers of Stirling rang 
With soldier-step and weapon-clang. 
While drums with rolling note foretell 
Relief to weary sentinel. 
Through narrow loop and casement barred. 
The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, 
And, struggling with the smoky air. 
Deadened the torches' yellow glare. 
In comfortless alliance shone 
The lights through arch of blackened stone, 
And showed wild shapes in garb of war, 
Faces deformed with beard and scar, 
All haggard from the midnight watch. 
And fevered with the stern debauch ; 
For the oak table's massive board, 
Flooded with wine, with fragments stored, 
And beakers drained, and cups o'erthrown. 
Showed in what sport the night had flown. 
Some, weary, snored on floor and bench ; 
Some labored still their thirst to quench ; 
Some, chilled with watching, spread their 

hands 
O'er the huge chimney's dying brands. 



234 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



While round them, or beside them flung, 
At every step their harness rung. 

III. 
These drew not for their fields the sword, 
Like tenants of a feudal lord, 
Nor owned the patriarchal claim 
Of Chieftain in their leader's name; 
Adventurers they, from far who roved. 



They held debate of bloody fray. 
Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achray. 
Fierce was their speech, and mid their words 
Their hands oft grappled to their swords : 
Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear 
Of wounded comrades groaning near, 
Whose mangled limbs and bodies gored 
Bore token of the mountain sword, 




To live by battle which they loved. 
There the Italian's clouded face, 
The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace : 
The mountain-loving Switzer there 
More freely breathed in mountain-air : 
The Fleming there despised the soil 
That paid so ill the laborer's toil ; 
Their rolls showed French and German 

name ; 
And merry England's exiles came. 
To share, with ill-concealed disdain, 
Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. 
All brave in arms, well trained to wield 
The heavy halberd, brand, and shield : 
In camps licentious, wild, and bold : 
In pillage fierce and uncontrolled: 
And now, by holytide and feast, 
From rules of discipline released. 



Though, neighboring to the Court of Guard, 
Their prayers and feverish wails were 

heard, — 
Sad burden to the ruffian joke, 
And savage oath by fury spoke ! — 
At length up started John of Brent, 
A yeoman from the banks of Trent ; 
A stranger to respect or fear, 
In peace a chaser of the deer, 
In host a hardy mutineer. 
But still the boldest of the crew 
When deed of danger was to do. 
He grieved that day their games cut short, 
And marred the dicer's brawling sport. 
And shouted loud, ' Renew the bowl ! 
And, while a merry catch I troll, 
Let each the buxom chorus bear, 
Like brethren of the brand and spear.' 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



S-DlHtcr's Song. 

Our vicar still preaches that Peter and 

Poule 
Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny 

brown bowl, 
That there 's wrath and despair in the 

jolly black-jack, 
And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of 

sack ; 
Yet whoop. Barnaby ! off with thy liquor, 
Drink upsees out, and a fig for the vicar ! 

Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip 
The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip, 
Says that Beelzebub lurks in her kepchief 

so sly, 
And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry 

black eye ; 
Yet whoop, Jack ! kiss Gillian the quicker. 
Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the 

vicar ! 

Our vicar thus preaches, — and why should 

he not ? 
For the dues of his cure are the placket 

and pot : 



And 't is right of his ofifice poor laymen to 

lurch 
Who infringe the domains of our good 

Mother Church. 
Yet whoop, bully-boys ! off with your liquor. 
Sweet Marjorie 's the word, and a fig for 

the vicar ! 



The warder's challenge, heard without, 
Stayed in mid-roar the merry shout. 
A soldier to the portal went, — 
' Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent ; 
And — beat for jubilee the drum ! — 
A maid and minstrel witli him come.' 
Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarred, 
Was entering now the Court of Guard, 
A harper with him, and, in plaid 
All mufiled close, a mountain maid, 
Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view 
Of the loose scene and boisterous crew. 
' What news .-^ ' they roared : — 'I only know, 
From noon till eve we fought with foe. 
As wild and as vmtamable 
As the rude mountains where they dwell; 
On both sides store of blood is lost. 
Nor much success can either boast.' — 
' But whence thy captives, friend .'' such 
spoil 




2\6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL IVORK'S. 



As theirs must needs reward thy toil. 
Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp ; 
Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp ! 
(iet thee an ape, and trudge the land, 
The leader of a juggler band.' 



' No, comrade ; — no such fortune mine. 

After the fight these sought our line, 

That aged harper and the girl. 

And, having audience of the Earl, 

Mar bade I should purvey them steed, 

And bring them hitherward with speed. 

Forbear your mirth and rude alarm, 

For none shall do them shame or harm. — 

' Hear ye his boast ? ' cried John of Brent, 

Ever to strife and jangling bent ; 

• Shall he strike doe beside our lodge. 

And yet the jealous niggard grudge 

To pay the forester his fee? 

I '11 have my share howe'er it be. 

Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee.' 

13ertram his forward step withstood; 

And, burning in his vengeful mood. 

Old Allan, though unfit for strife, 

Laid hand upon his dagger-knife; 

But Ellen boldly stepped between, 

And dropped at once the tartan screen : — 

So, from his morning cloud, appears 

The sun of May through svnnmer tears. 

The savage soldiery, amazed. 

As on descended angel gazed ; 

Even hardy Brent, abashed and tamed. 

Stood half admiring, half ashamed. 



Boldly she spoke : ' Soldiers, attend ! 
My father was the soldier's friend. 
Cheered him in camps, in marches led, 
And with him in the battle bled. 
Not from the valiant or the strong 
Should exile's' daughter suffer wrong.' 
Answered De Brent, most forward still 
In every feat or good or ill : 
' I shame me of the part I played ; 
And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid ! 
An outlaw I by forest laws, 
And merry Needvvood knows the cause. 
Poor Rose, — if Rose be living now,' — 
He wiped his iron eye and brow, — 
' Must bear such age, I think, as thou. - 
Hear ye, my mates ! I go to call 
The Captain of our watch to hall : 
There lies my halberd on the floor; 
And he that steps my halberd o'er, 
To do the maid injurious part. 
My shaft shall cjuiver in his heart! 
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough ; 
Ye all know John de Brent. Enough.' 



Their Captain came, a gallant young, — 

Of Tullibardine's house he sprung, — 

Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight ; 

Gay was his mien, his humor light. 

And, though by courtesy controlled, 

P'orward his speech, his bearing bold. 

The high-born maiden ill could brook 

The scanning of his curious look 

And dauntless eye : — and yet, in sooth, 

Young Lewis was a generous youth ; 

But Ellen's lovely face and mien, 

111 suited to the garb and scene. 

Might lightly bear construction strange, 

And give loose fancy scope to range. 

' Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid ! 

Come ye to seek a champion's aid. 

On palfrey white, with harper hoar, 

Like errant damosel of yore } 

Does thy high cjuest a knight require, 

Or may the venture suit a squire ? ' 

Her dark eye flashed ; — she paused and 

sighed: — 
' O what have I to do with pride ! — 
Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife, 
A suppliant for a father's life, 
I crave an audience of the King. 
Behold, to back my suit, a ring. 
The royal pledge of grateful claims. 
Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James.' 



The signet-ring young Lewis took 

With deep respect and altered look. 

And said : ' This ring our duties own ; 

And pardon, if to worth unknown. 

In semblance n-ean obscurely veiled, 

Lady, in aught my folly failed. 

Soon as the day flings wide his gates. 

The King shall know what suitor waits. 

Please you meanwhile in fitting bower 

Repose you till his waking hour ; 

Female attendance shall obey 

Your hest, for service or array. 

Permit I marshal you the way.' 

But, ere she followed, with the grace 

And open bounty of her race. 

She bade her slender purse be shared 

Among the soldiers of the guard. 

The rest with thanks their guerdon took. 

But Brent, with shy and awkward look, 

On the reluctant maiden's hold 

Forced bluntly back the proffered gold : - 

' Forgive a haughty English heart. 

And O, forget its ruder part ! 

The vacant purse shall be my share, 

Which in my barret-cap I '11 bear, 

Perchance, in jeopardy of war, 

Where gayer crests may keep afar.' 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



237 




With thanks — 'twas all she could — the 

maid 
His rugged courtesy repaid. 

XI. 

When Ellen forth with Lewis went. 
Allan made suit to John of Brent : — 
' My lady safe, O let your grace 
Give me to see my master's face ! 
His minstrel I, — to share his doom 
Bound from the cradle to the tomb. 
Tenth in descent, since first my sires 
Waked for his noble house their lyres, 
Nor one of all the race was known 
But prized its weal above their own. 
With the Chief's birth begins our care ; 
Our harp must soothe the infant heir, 
Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace 
His earliest feat of field or chase ; 
In peace, in war, our rank we keep. 
We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep, 
Nor leave him till we pour our verse — 
A doleful tribute ! — o'er his hearse. 
Then let me share his captive lot ; 
It is my right, — deny it not ! ' 



' Little we reck,' said John of Brent, 
' We Southern men, of long descent ; 
Nor wot we how a name — a word — 
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord : 
Yet kind my noble landlord's part, — 
God bless the house of Beaudesert ! 
And, but I loved to drive the deer 
More than to guide the laboring steer, 
I had not dwelt an outcast here. 
Come, good old Minstrel, follow me ; 
Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see.' 



Then, from a rusted iron hook, 
A bunch of ponderous keys he took, 
Lighted a torch, and Allan led 
Through grated arch and passage dread. 
Portals they passed, where, deep within. 
Spoke prisoner's moan and fetters' din ; 
Through rugged vaults, where, loosely 

stored. 
Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword. 
And many a hideous engine grim. 
For wrenching joint and crushing limb, 



2S8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



By artists formed who deemed it shame 
And sin to give their work a name. 
They halted at a low-browed porch, 
And Brent to Allan gave the torch, 






It'k 




While bolt and chain he backward rolled. 
And made the bar unhasp its hold. 
They entered : — 't was a prison-room 
Of stern security and gloom, 
Yet not a dungeon ; for the day 
Through lofty gratings found its way, 
And rude and antique garniture 
Decked the sad walls and oaken floor. 
Such as the j'ugged days of old 
Deemed fit for captive noble's hold. 
' Here,' said De Brent, ' thou mayst remain 
Till the Leech visit him again. 
• Strict is his charge, the warders tell, 
To tend the noble prisoner well.' 
Retiring then the bolt he drew, 
And the lock's murmurs growled anew. 
Roused at the sound, from lowly bed 
A captive feebly raised his head ; 
The wondering Minstrel looked, and knew — 
Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu ! 
For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought, 
They, erring, deemed the Chief he sought. 



As the tall ship, whose lofty prore 

Shall never stem the billows more. 

Deserted by her gallant band. 

Amid the breakers lies astrand, — 

So on his couch lay Roderick Dhu ! 

And oft his fevered limbs he threw 

In toss abrupt, as when her sides 

Lie rocking in the advancing tides. 

That shake her frame with ceaseless beat. 



Yet cannot heave her from her seat; — 
O, how unlike her course at sea ! 
Or his free step on hill and lea ! — 
Soon as the Minstrel he could scan, — 
' What of thy lady ? — of my clan .'' — 
My mother ? — Douglas ? — tell me all ! 
Have they been ruined in my fall? 
Ah, yes ! or wherefore art thou here ? 
Yet speak, — speak boldly, — do not fear.' 
For Allan, who his mood well knew. 
Was choked with grief and terror too. 
' Who fought ? — who fled ? — Old man, be 

brief ; — 
Some might, — for they had lost their Chief. 
Who basely live ? — who bravely died ? ' 
' O, calm thee. Chief !' the Minstrel cried, 
' Ellen is safe ! ' ' For that thank Heaven ! ' 
' And hopes are for the Douglas given ; — 
The Lady Margaret, too, is well ; 
And, for thy clan, — on field or fell. 
Has never harp of minstrel told 
Of combat fought so true and bold. 
Thy stately Pine is yet unbent. 
Though many a goodly bough is rent.' 



The Chieftain reared his form on liigh. 
And fever's fire was in his eye ; 
But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks 
Checkered his swarthy bi-ow and cheeks. 
' Hark, Minstrel ! I have heard thee play, 
With measure bold on festal day. 
In yon lone isle, — again where ne'er 
Shall harper play or warrior hear ! — 
That stirring air that peals on high. 
O'er Dermid's race our victory. — 
Strike it ! — and then, — for well thou 

canst, — 
Free from thy minstrehspnu glanced. 
Fling me the picture of the fight. 
When met my clan the Saxon might. 
I '11 listen, till my fancy hears 
The clang of swords, the crash of spears ! 
These grates, these walls, shall vanish 

then 
For the fair field of fighting men, 
And my free spirit burst away. 
As if it soared from battle fray.' 
The trembling Bard with awe obeyed, — 
Slow on the harp his hand he laid ; 
But soon remembrance of the sight 
He witnessed from the mountain's height, 
With what old Bertram told at night. 
Awakened the full power of song, 
And bore him in career along ; — 
As shallop launched on river's tide, 
That slow and fearful leaves the side, 
But, when it feels the middle stream, 
Drives downward swift as lightning's beam. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



239 




JSattlc of aScal' an JBuinc. 

' The Minstrel came once more to view 
The eastern ridge of Benvenue, 
For ere he parted he would say 
Farewell to lovely Loch Achray - 
Where shall he find, in foreign land, 
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! — 
There is no breeze upon the fern, 

No ripple on the lake. 
Upon her eyry nods the erne. 

The deer has sought the brake ; 
The small birds will not sing aloud, 

The springing trout lies still, 
So darkly glooms yon thunder-cloud. 
That swathes, as with a purple shroud, 

Benledi's distant hill. 
Is it the thunder's solemn sound 
That mutters deep and dread. 
Or echoes from the groaning ground 

The warrior's measured tread .'' 
Is it the lightning's quivering glance 

That on the thicket streams. 
Or do they Hash on spear and lance 
The sun's retiring beams ? — 
I see the dagger-crest of Mar, 
I see the Moray's silver star, 
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war. 
That up the lake comes winding far ! 
To hero boune for battle-strife, 
Or bard of martial lay. 



'T were worth ten years of peaceful life, 
One glance at their array ! 



'Their light-armed archers far and near 

Surveyed the tangled ground, 
Their centre ranks, with pike and spear, 

A twilight forest frowned. 
Their barded horsemen in the rear 

The stern battalia crowned. 
No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang. 

Still were the pipe and drum ; 
Save heavy tread, and armor's clang. 

The sullen march was dumb. 
There breathed no wind their crests to 
shake. 
Or wave their flags abroad ; 
Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake. 

That shadowed o'er their road. 
Their vaward scouts no tidings bring. 

Can rouse no lurking foe. 
Nor spy a trace of living thing. 

Save when they stirred the roe ; 
The host moves like a deep-sea wave, 
Where rise no rocks its pride to brave. 
High-swelling, dark, and slow. 
The lake is passed, and now they gain 
A narrow and a broken plain. 
Before the Trosachs' rugged jaws ; 
And here the horse and spearmen pause, v 
While, to explore the dangerous glen. 
Dive through the pass the archer-men. 



240 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XVII. 

' At once there rose so wild a yell 
Within that dark and narrow dell, 
As all the fiends from heaven that fell 
Had pealed the banner-cry of hell ! 
Forth from the pass in tumult driven. 
Like chaff before the wind of heaven, 

The archery appear : 
For life ! for life ! their flight they ply 
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry. 
And plaids and bonnets waving high. 
And broadswords flashing to the sky, 

Are maddening in the rear. 
Onward they drive in dreadful race. 
Pursuers and pursued ; 



' Bearing before them in their course 

The relics of the archer force, 

Like wave with crest of sparkling foam. 

Right onward did Clan-Alpine come. 
Above the tide, each broadsword bright 
Was brandishing like beam of light, 

Each targe was dark below ; 
And with the ocean's mighty swing, 
When heaving to the tempest's wing. 
They hurled them on the foe. 

I heard the lance's shivering crash. 

As when the whirlwind rends the ash ; 

I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, 

As if a hundred anvils rans: ! 




Before that tide of flight and chase. 
How shall it keep its rooted place. 

The spearmen's twilight wood? — 
"Down, down," cried Mar, "your lances 
down ! 

Bear back both friend and foe ! " — 
Like reeds before the tempests frown, 
That serried grove of lances brown 

At once lay levelled low ; 
And closely shouldering side to side, , 
The bristling ranks the onset bide. — 
" We '11 quell the savage mountaineer, ' 

As their Tinchel cows the game ! 
They come as fleet as forest deer. 

We '11 drive them back as tame." 



But Moray wheeled his rearward rank 
Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank, — • 

" My banner-men, advance .' 
I see," he cried, " their column shake. 
Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake, 

LIpon them with the lance ! " — 
The horsemen dashed among the rout. 

As deer break through the broom ; 
Their steeds are stout, their swords are 
out. 

They soon make lightsome room. 
Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne — 

Where, where was Roderick then ! 
One blast upon his bugle-horn 

Were worth a thousand men. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



241 




And refluent through the pass of fear 

The battle's tide was poured ; 
Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear, 

Vanished the mountain-sword. 
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep, 

Receives her roaring linn. 
As the dark caverns of the deep 
Suck the wild whirlpool in. 
So did the deep and darksome pass 
Devour the battle's mingled mass ; 
None linger now upon the plain. 
Save those who ne'er shall fisht asfain. 



' Now westward rolls the battle's din, 
That deep and doubling pass within. — 
Minstrel, away ! the work of fate 
Is bearing on ; its issue wait. 
Where the rude Trosachs' dread defile 
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle. 
Gray Benvenue I soon repassed. 
Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast. 
The sun is set ; — the clouds are met. 
The lowering scowl of heaven 



An inky hue of livid blue 
To the deep lake has given ; 
Strange gusts of wind from mountain glen 
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk again. 
I heeded not the eddying surge, 
Mine eye but saw the Trosachs' gorge, 
Mine ear but heard that sullen sound, 
Which like an earthquake shook the ground, 
And spoke the stern and desperate strife 
That parts not but with parting life. 
Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll 
The dirge of many a passing soul. 
Nearer it comes -^ the dim-wood glen 
The martial flood disgorged again. 

But not in mingled tide ; 
The plaided warriors of the North 
High on the mountain thunder forth 

And overhang its side. 
While by the lake below appears 
The darkening cloud of Saxon spears. 
At weary bay each shattered band, 
Eying their foemen, sternly stand ; 
Their banners stream like tattered sail. 
That flings its fragments to the gale. 



16 



242 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And broken arms and disarray 
Marked the fell havoc of the day. 



' Viewing the mountain's ridge askance, 
The Saxons stood in sullen trance, 
Till Moray pointed with his lance, 

And cried : " Behold yon isle ! — 
See ! none are left to guard its strand 
But women weak, that wring the hand : 
'T is there of yore the robber band 

Their booty wont to pile ; — 
My purse, with bonnet-pieces store, 
To him will swim a bow-shot o'er, 
And loose a shallop from the shore. 
Lightly we '11 tame the war-wolf then, 
Lords of his mate, and brood, and den." 
Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung. 
On earth his casque and corselet rung, 

He plunged him in the wave: — 
All saw the deed, — the purpose knew, 
And to their clamors Benvenue 

A mingled echo gave ; 
The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer. 
The helpless females scream for fear. 
And yells for rage the mountaineer. 
'T was then, as by the outcry riven. 
Poured down at once the lowering heaven 
A whirlwind swejjt Loch Katrine's breast, 
Her billows reared their snowy crest. 
Well for the swimmer swelled they high. 



To mar the Highland marksman's eye ; 

For round him showered, mid rain and hail. 

The vengeful arrows of the Gael. 

In vain. — He nears the isle — and lo ! 

His hand is on a shallop's bow. 

Just then a flash of lightning came, 

It tinged the waves and strand with flame : 

I marked Duncraggan's widowed dame. 

Behind an oak I saw her stand, 

A naked dirk gleamed in her hand : — 

It darkened, — but amid the moan 

Of waves I heard a dying groan ; — 

Another flash ! — the spearman floats 

A weltering corse beside the boats. 

And the stern matron o'er him stood, 

Her hand and dag^ger streaminar blood. 



' " Revenge ! revenge ! " the Saxons cried^ 

The Gaels' exulting shout replied. 

Despite the elemental rage, 

Again they hurried to enga.ge ; 

But, ere they closed in despei'ate fight, 

Bloody with spurring came a knight. 

Sprung from his horse, and from a crag 

Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag. 

Clarion and trumpet by his side 

Rung forth a truce-note high and wide, 

While, in the Monarch's name, afar 

A herald's voice forbade the war. 

For Bothwell's lord and Roderick bold 







THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



243 







Were both, he said, in captive hold." — 
But here the lay made sudden stand, 
The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand ! 
Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 
How Roderick brooked his minstrelsy : 
At first, the Chieftain, to the chime, 
With lifted hand kept feeble time ; 
That motion ceased, — yet feeling strong 
Varied his look as changed the song ; 
At length, no more his deafened ear 
The minstrel melody can hear ; 
His face grows sharp, — his hands are 

clenched, 
As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched ; 
Set are his teeth, his fading eye 
Is sternly fixed on vacancy ; 
Thus, motionless and moanless, drew 
His parting breath stout Roderick Dhu ! — 
Old Allan-bane looked on aghast. 
While grim and still his spirit passed ; 
But when he saw that life was fled. 
He poured his wailing o'er the dead. 

XXII. 

iLament. 

' And art thou cold and lowly laid. 
Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, 
Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade ! 
For thee shall none a requiem say? — 



For thee, who loved the minstrel's lay. 
For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay, 
The shelter of her exiled line, 
E'en in this prison-house of thine, 
I '11 wail for Alpine's honored Pine ! 

' What groans shall yonder valleys fill ! 
What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill ! 
What tears of burning rage shall thrill, 
When mourns thy tribe thy battles done, 
Thy fall before the race was won, 
Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun ! 
There breathes not clansman of thy line, 
But would have given his life for thine. 
O, woe for Alpine's honored Pine ! 

' Sad was thy lot on mortal stage ! — 
The captive thrush may brook the cage, 
The prisoned eagle dies for rage. 
Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain ! 
And. when its notes awake again. 
Even she, so long beloved in vain, 
Shall with my harp her voice combine, 
And mix her woe and tears with mine, 
To wail Clan-Alpine's honored Pine.' 

XXIII. 

Ellen the while, with bursting heart. 

Remained in lordly bower apart, 

Where played, with many-colored gleams, 



244 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




And lightened up a tapestried wall, 
And for her use a menial train 
A rich collation spread in vain. 
The banquet proud, the chamber gay, 
Scarce drew one curious glance astray; 
Or if she looked, 't was but to say. 
With better omen dawned the day 
In that lone isle, where waved on high 
The dun-deer's hide for canopy ; 
Where oft her noble father shared 
The simple meal her care prepared. 
While Lufra, crouching by her side. 
Her station claimed with jealous pride. 
And Douglas, bent on woodland game. 
Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Grjeme. 
Whose answer, oft at random made, 
The wandering of his thoughts betrayed. 
Those who such simple joys have known 
Are taught to prize them when they 're gone. 



Through storied pane the rising beams. 
In vain on gilded roof they fall. 



But sudden, see, she lifts her head, 
The window seeks with cautious tread. 
What distant music has the power 
To win her in this woful hour? 
'T was from a turret that o'erhung 
Her latticed bower, the strain was sunjr. 



ILag of tije Itnprtsoncti pJuiitsmaii. 

' My hawk is tired of perch and hood, 
My idle greyhound loathes his food. 
My horse is weary of his stall, 
And I am sick of captive thrall. 
I wish I were as I have been, 
Hunting the hart in forest green. 
With bended bow and bloodhound free. 
For that 's the life is meet for me. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



245 



* I hate to learn the ebb of time 
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime, 
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl. 
Inch after inch, along the wall. 

The lark was wont my matins ring, 
The sable rook my vespers sing. 
These towers, although a king's they be. 
Have not a hall of joy for me. 

• No more at dawning morn I rise. 
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes, 
Drive the fleet deer the forest through. 
And homeward wend with evening dew ; 
A blithesome welcome blithely meet, 
And lay my trophies at her feet. 
While fled the eve on wing of glee, — 
That life is lost to love and me I ' 



The heart-sick lay was hardly said, 
The listener had not turned her head. 
It trickled still, the starting tear. 
When light a footstep struck her ear. 
And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near. 
She turned the hastier, lest again 
The prisoner should renew his strain. 
' O welcome, brave Fitz-James ! ' she said ; 
' How may an almost orphan maid 
Pay the deep debt — ' ' O say not so I 
To me no gratitude you owe. 
Not mine, alas ! the boon to give, 



And bid thy noble father live ; 

I can but be thy guide, sweet maid. 

With Scotland's King thy suit to aid. 

No tyrant he, though ire and pride 

May lay his better mood aside. 

Come, Ellen, come ! 't is more than time, 

He holds his court at morning prime.' 

With beating heart, and bosom wrung, 

As to a brother's arm she clung. 

Gently he dried the falling tear. 

And gently whispered hope and cheer ; 

Her faltering steps half led, half stayed, 

Through gallery fair and high arcade. 

Till at his touch its wings of pride 

A portal arch unfolded wide. 



Within 't was brilliant all and light, 
A thronging scene of figures bright ; 
It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight. 
As when the setting sun has given 
Ten thousand hues to summer even, 
And from their tissue fancy frames 
Aerial knights and fairy dames. 
Still by Fitz-James her footing staid ; 
A few faint steps she forward made, 
Then slow her drooping head she raised. 
And fearful round the presence gazed ; 
For him she sought who owned this state, 
The dreaded Prince whose will was fate !- 
She gazed on many a princely port 




246 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Might well have ruled a royal court ; 
On many a splendid garb she gazed, — 
Then turned bewildered and amazed, 
For all stood bare ; and in the room 
Fitz-James alone wore caj) and plume. 
To him each lady's look was lent, 
On him each courtier's eye was bent ; 
Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen, 
He stood, in simple Lincoln green. 



The fealty of Scotland claims. 

To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring; 

He will redeem his signet ring. 

Ask naught for Douglas ; ■ — yester even, 

His Prince and he have much forgiven; 

Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue. 

I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. 

We would not, to the vulgar crowd. 

Yield what they craved with clamor loud : 




The centre of the glittering ring, — 

And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King; ! 



As wreath of snow on mountain-breast 

Shdes from the rock that gave it rest, 

Poor Ellen glided from her sta}-. 

And at the Monarch's feet she lay : 

No word her choking voice commands, — 

She showed the ring, — she clasped her 

hands. 
O, not a moment could he brook. 
The generous Prince, that suppliant look ! 
Gently he raised her, — and, the while, 
Checked with a glance the circle's smile ; 
Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed. 
And bade her terrors be dismissed : — 
' Yes, fair ; the wandering poor Fitz-James 



Calmly we heard and judged his cause, 

Our council aided and our laws. 

I stanched thy father's death-feud stern 

With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn ; 

And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own 

The friend and bulwark of our throne. — - 

But, lovely infidel, how now ? 

What clouds thy misbelieving brow ? 

Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid ; 

Thou must confirm this doubting maid.' 

XXVIII. 

Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, 
And on his neck his daughter hung. 
The Monarch drank, that happy hour. 
The sweetest, holiest draught of Power, — 
When it can say with godlike voice, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



247 




Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice ! 
Yet would not James tlie general eye 
On nature's raptures long should pry ; 
He stepped between — ' Nay, Douglas, 

nay, 
Steal not my proselyte away ! 
The riddle "tis my right to read. 
That brought this happy chance to speed. 
Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray 
In life's more low but happier way, 
'Tis undername which veils my power, 
Nor falsely veils, — for Stirling's tower 
Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims. 
And Normans call me James Fitz-James. 
Thus watch I o'er insulted laws, 
Thus learn to right the injured cause.' 
Then, in a tone apart and low, — 
' Ah, little traitress ! none must know 
Wliat idle dream, what lighter thought. 
What vanity full dearly bought, 
Joined to thine eye's clark witchcraft, drew 
My spell-bound steps to Benvenue 
In dangerous hour, and all but gave 
Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive ! ' 
Aloud he spoke: ' Thou still dost hold 
That little talisman of irold. 



Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring, 
What seeks fair Ellen of the King ? ' 



Full well the conscious maiden guessed 
He probed the weakness of her breast ; 
But with that consciousness there came 
A lightening of her fears for Graeme, 
And more she deemed the Monarch's ire 
Kindled 'gainst him who for her sire 
Rebellious broadsword boldly drew ; 
And, to her generous feeling true, 
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu. 
' Forbear thy suit ; — the King of kings 
Alone can stay life's parting wings. 
I know his heart, I know his hand, 
Have shared his cheer, and proved hi.^ 

brand ; — 
My fairest earldom would I give 
To bid Clan-Alpine"s Chieftain live ! — 
Hast thou no other boon to crave ? 
No other captive friend to save ? ' 
Blushing, she turned her from the King. 
And to the Douglas gave the ring. 
As if she wished her sire to speak . 



248 



SCOTT'S POETICAL IVORKS. 




The suit that stained her glowing cheek. 
' Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force. 
And stubborn justice holds her course. 
Malcolm, come forth ! ' — and, at the word, 
Down kneeled the Grsme to Scotland's 

Lord. 
' For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues, 
From thee may Vengeance claim her dues, 
Who, nurtured underneath our smile, 



Hast paid our care by treacherous wile. 
And sought amid thy faithful clan 
A refuge for an outlawed man. 
Dishonoring thus thy loyal name. — 
Fetters and warder for the Graeme ! ' 
His chain of gold the King unstrung. 
The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung. 
Then gently drew the glittering band. 
And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand. 




THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



249 



Harp of the North, farewell ! The hills grow dark, 

On purple peaks a deeper shade descending; 
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark, 

The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending. 
Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending. 

And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy; 
Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending, 

With distant echo from the fold and lea. 
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee. 

Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp! 

Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway. 
And little reck I of the censure sharp 

May idly cavil at an idle lay. 
Much have 1 owed thy strains on life's long way, 

Through secret woes the world has never known, 
When on the weary night dawned wearier day. 

And bitterer was the grief devoured alone. — 
That I o'erlive such woes. Enchantress! is thine own. 

Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, 

Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string ! 
'T is now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 

'T is now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. 
Receding now, the dying numbers ring 

Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell ; 
And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring 

A wandering witch-note of the distant spell — 
And now, 'tis silent all! — Enchantress, fare thee well! 




;?|^^^^ ( 



Ct)E f (fiion of ©on a^otjericfe. 



Qtiid dignuin nictnorare tids, Hispania, terris, 
Vox hiimatta valet! — Claudian. 



TO 

JOHN WHITMORE, ESQ., 

AND TO THE 

COMMITTEE OF SUBSCRIBERS FOR RELIEF OF THE PORTUGUESE SUFFERERS, 

IN WHICH HE PRESIDES, 

THIS POEM, 

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK, 

COMPOSED FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE FUND UNDER THEIR MANAGEMENT, 
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY 

WALTER SCOTT. 



3Ef)E Utsion of Hon Eotierich. 
INTRODUCTION. 



Lives there a strain whose sounds of 
mounting fire 
May rise distinguished o'er the din of 
war; 
Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre, 

Who sung beleaguered Ilion's evil star ? 
Such, Wellington, might reach thee 
from afar, 
^ Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's 
range ; 
Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood 
could mar, 
All as it swelled 'twixt each loud trum- 
pet-change, 
That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal 
revenge ! 



Yes ! such a strain, with all o'er-powering 
measure, 
Might melodize with each tumultuous 
sound, 



Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or 
pleasure. 
That rings Mondego's ravaged shores 
around ; 
The thundering cry of hosts with con- 
quest crowned. 
The female shriek, the ruined peasant's 
moan. 
The shout of captives from their chains 
unbound, 
The foiled oppressor's deep and sullen 
groan, 
A Nation's choral hymn for tyranny o'er- 
thrown. 



But we, weak minstrels of a laggard day. 

Skilled but to imitate an elder page. 
Timid and raptureless, can we repay 
The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted 
age? 
Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might 
engage 
Those that could send thy name o'er 
sea and land. 
While sea and land shall last: for Ho- 
mer's rage 



254 



scorrs poetical works. 



A theme ; a theme for Milton's mighty 
hand — 
How much unmeet for us, a faint degener- 
ate band ! 



Ye mountains stern ! within whose rugged 
breast 
The friends of Scottish freedom found 
repose ; 
Ye torrents ! whose hoarse sounds have 
soothed their rest, 
Returning from the field of vanquished 
foes ; 
Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close, 
That erst the choir of Bards or Druids 
flung ; 
What time their hymn of victory arose. 
And Cattraeth's glens with voice of 
triumph rung, 
And mystic Merlin harped, and gray-haired 
Lly warch sung ? 



O, if your wilds such minstrelsy retain, 
As sure your changeful gales seem oft 
to say. 
When sweeping wild and sinking soft 
again. 
Like trumpet-jubilee or harp's wild 
sway ; 
If ye can echo such triumphant lay, 
Then lend the note to him has loved 
you long ! 
Who pious gathered each tradition gray, 
That floats your solitary wastes along, 
And with affection vain gave them new 
voice in song:. 



For not till now, how oft soe'er the task 
Of truant verse hath lightened graver 
care. 
From Muse or Sylvan was he wont to ask, 

In phrase poetic, inspiration fair; 
Careless he gave his numbers to the air. 
They came unsought for, if applauses 
came ; 
Nor for himself prefers he now the prayer : 
Let but his verse befit a hero's fame, 
Immortal be the verse ! — forgot the poet's 
name ! 



Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer 

tost : 

' Minstrel ! the fame of whose romantic 

lyre, 

Capricious-swelling now, may soon be lost. 

Like the light flickering of a cottage fire : 



If to such task presumptuous thou aspire 
Seek not from us the meed to warrior 
due : 
Age after age has gathered son to sire, 
Since our gray cliffs the din of conflict 
knew, 
Or, pealing through our vales, victorious 
bugles blew. 



' Decayed our old traditionary lore, 
Save where the lingering fays renew 
their ring. 
By milkmaid seen beneath the hawthorn 
hoar, 1 

Or round the marge of Minchmore's 
haunted spring; 
Save where their legends gray-haired 
shepherds sing. 
That now scarce win a listening ear 
but thine. 
Of feuds obscure and Border ravaging. 
And rugged deeds recount in rugged 
line 
Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, 
or Tyne. 



' No ! search romantic lands, where the 
near Sun 
Gives with unstinted boon ethereal 
flame. 
Where the rude villager, his labor done, 
In verse spontaneous chants some fa- 
vored name. 
Whether Olalia's charms his tribute claim, 
Her eye of diamond and her locks of jet. 
Or whether, kindling at the deeds of 
Graeme, 
He sing, to wild Morisco measure set. 
Old Albin's red claymore, green Erin's 
bayonet ! 



' Explore those regions, where the flinty 
crest 
Of wild Nevadaever gleams with snows. 
Where in the proud Alhambra's ruined 
breast 
Barbaric monuments of pomp repose ; 
Or where the banners of more ruthless foes 
Than the fierce Moor float o'er Toledo's 
fane. 
From whose tall towers even now the 
patriot throws 
An anxious glance, to spy upon the 
plain 
The blended ranks of England, Portugal, 
and Spain. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



255 



' There, of Numantian fire a swarthy 
spark 
Still lightens in the sunburnt native's 
eye; 
The stately port, slow step, and visage 
dark 
Still mark enduring pride and con- 
stancy. 
And, if the glow of feudal chivalry 

Beam not, as once, thy nobles' dearest 
pride, 
Iberia ! oft thy crestless peasantry 

Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit 
their side, 
Have seen, yet dauntless stood — 'gainst 
fortune fought and died. 



' And cherished still by that unchanging 
race, 
Are themes for minstrelsy more high 
than thine ; 
Of strange tradition many a mystic trace. 
Legend and vision, prophecy and sign ; 
Where wonders wild of Arabesque com- 
bine 
With Gothic imagery of darker shade. 
Forming a model meet for minstrel line. 
Go, seek such theme ! ' — The Moun- 
tain Spirit said : 
With filial awe I heard — I heard, and I 
obeyed. 



Wf^i Uisi'on cf ©on Eotierick. 



Rearing their crests amid the cloudless 
skies. 
And darkly clustering in the pale moon- 
light, 
Toledo's holy towers and spires arise, 

As from a trembling lake of silver white. 
Their mingled shadows intercept the sight 
Of the broad burial-ground outstretched 
below. 
And naught disturbs the silence of the 
night ; 
All sleeps in sullen shade, or silver glow. 
All save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless 
flow. 



All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide. 
Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or 
tramp, 



Their changing rounds as watchful horse- 
men ride. 
To guard the limits of King Roderick's 
camp. 
For, through the river's night-fog rolling 
damp. 
Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen, 
Which glimmered back, against the moon's 
fair lamp, 
Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen, 
And standards proudly pitched, and warders 
armed between. 



But of their monarch's person keeping 
ward, 
Since last the deep-mouthed bell of 
vespers tolled. 
The chosen soldiers of the royal guard 
The post beneath the proud cathedral 
hold : 
A band unlike their Gothic sires of old. 

Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace. 
Bear slender darts and casques bedecked 
with gold. 
While silver-studded belts their shoul- 
ders grace, 
Where ivory quivers ring in the broad fal- 
chion's place. 



In the light language of an idle court, 
They murmured at their master's long 
delay, 
And held his lengthened orisons in sport : 
' What ! will Don Roderick here till 
morning stay. 
To wear in shrift and prayer the night 
away ? 
And are his hours in such dull penance 
past. 
For fair Florinda's plundered charms to 
pay ? ' 
Then to the east their weary eyes they 
cast. 
And wished the lingering dawn would glim- 
mer forth at last. 



But, far within, Toledo's prelate lent 
An ear of fearful wonder to the king ; 

The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent. 

So long that sad confession witnessing : 

For Roderick told of many a hidden thing, 
Such as are lothly uttered to the air, 

When Fear, Remorse, and Shame the 
bosom wrinsf, 



256 



SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. 



And Guilt his secret burden cannot 
bear, 
And Conscience seeks in speech a respite 
from Despair. 



Full on the prelate's face and silver hair 
The stream of failing light was feebly 
rolled : 
But Roderick's visage, though his head 
was bare, 
Was shadowed by his hand and mantle's 
fold. 
While of his hidden soul the sins he told. 
Proud Alaric's descendant could not 
brook 
That mortal man his bearing should 
behold. 
Or boast that he had seen, wlien con- 
science shook. 
Fear tame a monarch's brow, remorse a 
warrior's look. 



The old man's faded cheek waxed yet 
more pale. 
As many a secret sad the king bewrayed; 
As sign and glance eked out tlie unfin- 
ished tale, 
When in the midst his faltering whisper 
staid. — 
'Thus royal Witiza was slain,' he said: 
' Yet, holy father, deem not it was I.' 
Thus still Ambition strives her crimes 
to shade. — 
' O, rather deem 't was stern necessity ! 
Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or 
die. 

VIII. 

' And if Florinda's shrieks alarmed the air, 

If she invoked her absent sire in vain 
And on her knees implored that I would 
spare. 
Yet, reverend priest, thy sentence rash 
refrain ! 
All is not as it seems — the female train 
Know by their bearing to disguise their 
mood : ' — 
But Conscience here, as if in high disdain. 
Sent to the Monarch's cheek the burn 
ing blood — 
He stayed his speech abrupt — and up the 
prelate stood. 



' O hardened offspring of an iron race ! 
What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, 
shall I say } 



What alms or prayers or penance can 
efface 
Murder's dark spot, wash treason's 
stain away ! 
For the foul ravisher how shall I pray. 
Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime 
his boast ? 
How hope Almighty vengeance shall 
delay. 
Unless, in mercy to yon Christian host, 
He spare the shepherd lest the guiltless 
sheep be lost.' 

X. 

Then kindled the dark tyrant in his mood, 
And to his brow returned its dauntless 
gloom ; 
' And welcome then,' he cried, 'be blood 
for blood. 
For treason treachery, for dishonor 
doom ! 
Yet will I know whence come they or by 
whom. 
Show, for thou canst — give forth the 
fated key, 
And guide me, priest, to that mysterious 
room 
Where, if aught true in old tradition be, 
His nation's future fates a Spanish king- 
shall see.' 



' Ill-fated Prince ! recall the desperate 
word. 
Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey ! 
Bethink, yon spell-bound portal would 
afford 
Never to former monarch entrance-way ; 
Nor shall it ever ope, old records say, 

Save to a king, the last of all his line. 
What time his empire totters to decay. 
And treasondigs beneath herfatalmine. 
And high above impends avenging wrath 
divine.' — 

XII. 

' Prelate ! a monarch's fate brooks no 
delay ; 
Lead on!' — The ponderous key the 
old man took, 
And held the winking lamp, and led the 
way. 
By winding stair, dark aisle, and secret 
nook. 
Then on an ancient gateway bent his look ; 
And, as the key the desperate king 
essayed. 
Low muttered thunders the cathedral 
shook, 



IHE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



257 




And twice he stopped and twice new 
effort made, 
Till the huge bolts rolled back and the loud 
hinges brayed. 

XIII. 

Long, large, and lofty was that vaulted 
hall ; 
Roof, walls, and floor were all of mar- 
ble stone, 
Of polished marble, black as funeral pall, 
Carved o'er with signs and characters 
unknown. 
A paly light, as of the dawning, shone 
Through the sad bounds, but whence 
they could not spy. 
For window to the upper air was none: 
Yet by that light Don Roderick could 
descry 
Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by 
mortal eve. 



Grim sentinels, against the upper wall. 
Of molten bronze, two Statues held 
their place ; 
Massive their naked limbs, their stature 
tall. 
Their frowning foreheads golden circles 
grace. 
Moulded they seemed for kings of giant 
. race. 



That lived and sinned before the aveng- 
ing flood ; 
This grasped a scythe, that rested on a 
mace : 
This spread his wings for flight, that 
pondering stood. 
Each stubborn seemed and stern, immutable 
of mood. 

XV. 

Fixed was the right-hand giant's brazen 
look 
Upon his brother's glass of shifting 
sand, 
As if its ebb he measured by a book. 
Whose iron volume loaded his huge 
hand ; 
In which was wrote of many a fallen land, 
Of empires lost, and kings to exile 
driven : 
And o'er that pair their names in scroll 
expand — 
' Lo, Destixv and Time ! to whom 
by Heaven 
The guidance of the earth is for a season 
given.' — 



Even while they read, the sand-glass 
wastes away ; 
And, as the last and lagging grains did 
creep. 



17 



258 



scorrs poetical works. 



That right hand giant "gan his club up- 
sway, 
As one that startles from a heavy sleep, 
f'ull on the upper wall the mace's sweep 
At once descended with the force of 
thunder, 
And, hurtling down at once m crumbled 
heap, 
The marble boundary was rent asunder. 
And gave to Roderick's view new sights of 
fear and wonder. 



For they might spy beyond that mighty 
breach 
Realms as of Spain in visioned pros 
pect laid, 
Castles and towers, in due proportion 
each, 
As by some skilful artist's hand por- 
trayed : 
Here, crossed by many a wild Siarra's 
shade 
And boundless plains that tire the 
traveller's eye ; 
There, rich with vineyard and with olive 
glade, 
Or deep-embrowned by forests huge 
and high. 
Or washed by mighty streams that slowly 
murmured by. 



And here, as erst upon the antique stage 
Passed forth the band of masquers 
trimly led, 
In various forms and various equipage, 
While fitting strains the hearer's fancy 
fed; 
So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread, 
Successive pageants filled that mystic 
scene. 
Showing the fate of battles ere they bled. 
And issue of events that had not been ; 
And ever and anon strange sounds were 
heard between. 



First shrilled an unrepealed female 
shriek ! — 
It seemed as if Don Roderick knew the 
call. 
For the bold blood was blanching in his 
cheek. — 
Then answered kettle-drum and atabal, 
Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear ap- 
pall, 
The Tecbir war-cry and the Lelie's 
yell 



Ring wildly dissonant along the hall. 
Needs not to Roderick their dread im- 
port tell — 
The Moor ! ' he cried, ' the Moor ! — ring 
out the tocsin bell ! 



' They come ! they come ! I see the 
groaning lands 
White with the turbans of each Arab 
horde ; 
Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving 
bands. 
Alia and Mahomet their battle-word, 
The choice they yield, the Koran or the 
sword. — 
See how the Christians rush to arms 
amain ! — 
In yonder shout the voice of conflict 
roared. 
The shadowy hosts are closing on the 
plain — 
Now, God and Saint lago strike for the 
good cause of Spain ! 



' By Heaven, the Moors prevail ! the 
Christians yield ! 
Their coward leader gives for flight 
the sign ! 
The sceptred craven mounts to quit the 
field — 
Is not yon steed Orelia .'' — Yes, 'tis 
mine ! 
But never was she turned from battle- 
line : 
Lo ! where the recreant spurs o'er 
stock and stone ! — 
Curses pursue the slave, and wrath di- 
vine ! 
Rivers ingulf him ! ' — ' Hush,' in 
shuddering tone. 
The prelate said ; ' rash prince, yon vis- 
ioned form 's thine own.' 



Just then, a torrent crossed the flier's 
course ; 
The dangerous ford the kingly likeness 
tried ; 
But the deep eddies whelmed both man 
and horse. 
Swept like benighted peasant down 
the tide ; 
And the proud Moslemah spread far and 
wide. 
As numerous as their native locust 
band ; 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



259 



Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils di- 
vide, 
With naked scimitars mete out the 
land, 
And for the bondsmen base the freeborn 
natives brand. 

XXIII. 

Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose 
The loveliest maidens of the Christian 
line; 
Then, menials, to their misbelieving foes 
Castile's young nobles held forbidden 
wine ; 
Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation's 
sign, 
By impious hands was from the altar 
thrown. 
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine 
Echoed, for holy hymn and organ-tone, 
The Santon's frantic dance, the Fakir's 
gibbering moan. 

XXIV. 

How fares Don Roderick ? — E'en as one 
who spies 
Flames dart their glare o'er midnight's 
sable woof, 
And hears around his children's piercing 
cries. 
And sees the pale assistants stand 
aloof ; 
While cruel Conscience brings him bitter 
proof 
His folly or his crime have caused his 
grief; 
And while above him nods the crumbling 
roof. 
He curses earth and Heaven — him- 
self in chief — 
Desperate of earthly aid, despairing 
Heaven's relief ! 



That scythe-armed Giant turned his fatal 
glass 
And twilight on the landscape closed 
her wings ; 
Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass. 
And in their stead rebeck or timbrel 
rings ; 
And to the sound the bell-decked dancer 
springs. 
Bazars resound as when their marts 
are met, 
In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings. 
And on the land as evening seemed to 
set. 
The Imaum's chant was heard from mosque 
or minaret. 



So passed that pageant. Ere another 
camg, 
The visionary scene was wrapped in 
smoke. 
Whose sulphurous wreaths were crossed 
by sheets of flame ; 
With every flash a bolt explosive broke. 
Till Roderick deemed the fiends had 
burst their yoke 
And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal 
gonfalone ! 
For War a new and dreadful language 
spoke. 
Never by ancient warrior heard or 
known ; 
Lightning and smoke her breath, and 
thunder was her tone. 



From the dim landscape roll the clouds 
away — 
The Christians have regained their 
heritage ; 
Before the Cross has waned the Cres- 
cent's ray, 
And many a monastery decks the stage, 
And lofty church, and low-browed hermi- 
tage. 
The land obeys a Hermit and a 
Knight, — 
The Genii these of Spain for many an 
age; 
This clad in sackcloth, that in armor 
bright, 
And that was Valor named, this Bigotry 
was hisflit. 



Valor was harnessed like a chief of old, 
Armed at all points, and prompt for 
knightly gest ; 
His sword was tempered in the Ebro cold, 
Morena's eagle plume adorned his crest, 
The spoils of Afric's lion bound his 
breast. 
Fierce he stepped forward and flung 
down his gage ; 
As if of mortal kind to brave the best. 
Him followed his companion, dark and 
sage 
As he my Master sung, the dangerous 
Arch image. 

XXIX. 

Haughty of heart and brow the warrior 
came. 
In look and language proud as proud 
might be. 



26o 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Vaunting his lordship, Hneage, fights, 
and fame : 
Yet was that barefoot monk more 
proud than he ; ' 

And as the ivy cUmbs the tallest tree, 
So round the loftiest soul his toils he 
wound, 
And witli his spells subdued the fierce 
and free. 
Till ermined Age and Youth in arms 
renowned. 
Honoring his scourge and haircloth, meekly 
kissed the ground. 



And thus it chanced that Valor, peer- 
less knight, 
Who ne'er to king or Kaiser veiled his 
crest, 
Victorious still in bull-feast or in fight, 
Since first his limbs with mail he did 
invest. 
Stooped ever to that anchoret's behest : 
Nor reasoned of the right nor of the 
wrong, 
But at his bidding laid the lance in rest. 
And wrought fell deeds the troubled 
world along. 
For he was fierce as brave and pitiless as 
strong. 



Oft his proud galleys sought some new- 
found world, 
That latest sees the sun or first the 
morn ; 
Still at that wizard's feet their spoils he 
hurled, — 
Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne, 
Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Om- 
rahs worn, 
Wrought of rare gems, but broken, 
rent, and foul ; 
Idols of gold from heathen temples torn. 
Bedabbled all with blood. — With 
grisly scowl 
The hermit marked the stains and smiled 
beneath his cowl. 

XXXII. 

Then did he bless the offering, and bade 
make 
Tribute to Heaven of gratitude and 
praise : 
And at his word the choral hymns awake, 
And many a hand the silver censer 
sways, 
But with the incense-breath these censers 
raise 



Mix steams from corpses smouldering 
in the fire : 
The groans of prisoned victims mar the 
lays, 
And shrieks of agony confound the 
quire ; 
While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the dark- 
ened scenes expire. 



XXXIII. 

Preluding light, were strains of music 
heard, 
As once again revolved that measured 
sand ; 
Such sounds as when, for sylvan dance 
prepared, 
Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage 
band ; 
When for the light bolero ready stand 
The mozo blithe, with gay muchacha 
met, 
He conscious of his broidered cap and 
band, 
She of her netted locks and light cor- 
sette, 
Each tiptoe perched to spring and shake 
the Castanet. 

XXXIV. 

And well such strains the opening scene 
became ; 
For Valor had relaxed his ardent look, 
And at a lady's feet, like lion tame, 
Lay stretched, full loath the weight of 
arms to brook ; 
And softened Bigotry upon his book 
Pattered a task of little good or ill : 
But the blithe peasant plied his pruning- 
hook. 
Whistled the muleteer o'er vale and hill. 
And rung from village-green the merry 
seguidille. 



XXXV » 

Gray Royalty, grown impotent of toil. 

Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold ; 
And careless saw his rule become the 
spoil 
Of a loose female and her minion bold. 
But peace was on the cottage and the 
fold, 
From court intrigue, from bickering 
faction far ; 
Beneath the chestnut-tree love's tale was 
told, 
And to the tinkling of the light guitar 
Sweet s-tooped the western sun, sweet rose 
the evening star. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



261 



As that sea-cloud, in size like human 
hand 
When first from Carmel by the Tishbite 
seen, 
Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land, 
Awhile perchance bedecked with colors 
sheen, 
While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had 
been. 
Limning with purple and with gold its 
shroud. 
Till darker folds obscured the blue serene 
And blotted heaven with one broad sa- 
ble cloud. 
Then sheeted rain burst down and whirl- 
winds howled aloud : — 



Even so, upon that peaceful scene was 
poured. 
Like gathering clouds, full many a for- 
eign band. 
And He, their leader, wore in sheath his 
sword. 
And offered peaceful front and open 
hand. 
Veiling the perjured treachery he planned, 
By friendship's zeal and honor's spe- 
cious guise. 
Until he won the passes of the land ; 
Then burst were honor's oath and 
friendship's ties ! 
He clutched his vulture grasp and called fair 
Spain his prize. 



An iron crown his anxious forehead bore : 
And well such diadem his heart became 
Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave 
o'er. 
Or checked his course for piety or 
shame; 
Who, trained a soldier, deemed a soldier's 
fame 
Might flourish in the wreath of battles 
won, 
Though neither truth nor honor decked 
his name ; 
Who, placed by fortune on a monarch's 
throne, 
Recked not of monarch's faith or mercy's 
kingly tone. 

XXXIX. 

From a rude isle his ruder lineage came : 
The spark that, from a suburb-hovel's 
hearth 



Ascending, wraps some capital in flame. 
Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth . 
And for the soul that bade him waste the 
earth — 
The sable land-flood from some swamp 
obscure, 
That poisons the glad husband-field with 
dearth. 
And by destruction bids its fame en- 
dure. 
Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, 
and impure. 



Before that leader strode a shadowy form ; 
Her limbs like mist, her torch like 
meteor showed, 
With which she beckoned him through 
fight and storm. 
And all he crushed that crossed his 
desperate road. 
Nor thought, nor feared, nor looked on 
what he trode. 
Realms could not glut his pride, blood 
could not slake. 
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad : 
It was Ambition bade his terrors 
wake, 
Nor deigned she, as of yore, a milder form 
to take. 



No longer now she spurned at mean re- 
venge, 
Or staid her hand for conquered foe- 
man's moan. 
As when, the fates of aged Rome to 
change. 
By Ciesar's side she crossed the Ru- 
bicon. 
Nor joyed she to bestow the spoils she 
won, 
As when the banded powers of Greece 
were tasked 
To war beneath the Youth of Macedon : 
No seemly veil her modern minion 
asked, 
He saw her hideous face and loved the fiend 
unmasked. 



That prelate marked his march — -on ban- 
ners blazed 
With battles won in many a distant 
land. 
On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed : 
' And hopest thou, then,' he said, ' thy 
power shall stand ? 
O. thou hast builded on the shifting sand 



262 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And thou hast tempered it with slaugh- 
ter's flood ; 
And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's 
hand, 
Gore-moistened trees shall perish in 
the bud. 
And by a bloody death shall die the Man of 
Blood ! ' 

XLIII. 

The ruthless leader beckoned from his 
train 
A wan fraternal shade, and bade him 
kneel. 
And paled his temples with the crown of 
Spain, 
While trumpets rang and heralds cried 
' Castile ! ' 
Not that he loved him — No! — In no 
man's weal, 
Scarce in his own, e'er joyed that sullen 
heart ; 
Yet round that throne he bade his war- 
riors wheel. 
That the poor puppet might perform 
his part 
And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck 
to start. 

XLIV. 

But on the natives of that land misused 
Not long the silence of amazement 
hung, 
Nor brooked they long their friendly faith 
abused ; 
For with a common shriek the general 
tongue 
Exclamied, ' To arms ! ' and fast to arms 
they sprung. 
And Valor woke, that Genius of the 
land! 
Pleasure and ease and sloth aside he 
flung. 
As burst the awakening Nazarite his 
band 
When 'gainst his treacherous foes he 
clenched his dreadful hand. 

XLV. 

That mimic monarch now cast anxious 
eye 
Upon the satraps that begirt him round. 
Now doffed his royal robe in act to fly, 

And from his brow the diadem unbound. 
So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound, 
From Tarik's walls to Bilboa's moun- 
tains blown, 
These martial satellites hard labor found. 
To guard awhile his substituted throne ; 
Light recking of his cause, but battling for 
their own. 



From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung. 
And it was echoed from Corunna's 
wall ; 
Stately Seville responsive war-shout 
fl ung. 
Grenada caught it in her Moorish hall ; 
Galicia bade her children fight or fall. 
Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coro- 
net, 
Valencia roused her at the battle-call, 
And, foremost still where Valor's sons 
are met. 
Fast started to his gun each fiery Miquelet. 



But unappalled and burning for the fight, 
The invaders march, of victory secure ; 
Skilful their force to sever or unite, 

And trained alike to vanquish or endure. 
Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to insure 
Discord to breathe and jealousy to sow. 
To quell by boasting and by bribes to 
lure ; 
While naught against them bring the 
unpractised foe. 
Save hearts for freedom's cause and hands 
for freedom's blow. 

XLVIII. 

Proudly they march — but, O, they march 
not forth 
By one hot field to crown a brief cam- 
paign, 
As when their eagles, sweeping through 
the North, 
Destroyed at every stoop an ancient 
reign ! 
Far other fate had Heaven decreed for 
Spain ; 
In vain the steel, in vain the torch was 
plied. 
New Patriot armies started from the slain, 
High blazed the war, and long, and far, 
and wide. 
And oft the God of Battles blest the right- 
eous side. 



Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes 
prevail, 
Remained their savage waste. With 
blade and brand 
By day the invaders ravaged hill and dale. 
But with the darkness the Guerilla band 
Came like night's tempest and avenged 
the land. 
And claimed for blood the retribution 
due. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



26' 




Probed the hard heart and lopped the 
murd'rous hand ; 
And Dawn, when o'er the scene her 
beams she threw, 
Midst ruins they had made the spoilers' 
corpses knew. 



What minstrel verse may sing or tongue 
may tell. 
Amid the visioned strife from sea to 
sea, 
How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell. 

Still honored in defeat as victory? 
For that sad pageant of events to be 
Showed every form of fight by field and 
flood ; 
Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their 
glee, 
Beheld, while riding on the tempest 
scud, 
The waters choked with slain, the earth be- 
drenched with blood ! 



Then Zaragoza — blighted be the tongue 

That names thy name without the honor 

due ! 

For never hath the harp of minstrel rung 

Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true ! 

Mine, sap, and bomb thy shattered ruins 

knew, 



Each art of war's extremity had room. 
Twice from thy half-sacked streets the foe 
withdrew, 
And when at length stern Fate decreed 
thy doom. 
They won not Zaragoza but her children's 
bloody tomb. 

LIT. 

Yet raise thy head, sad city ! Though in 
chains. 
Enthralled thou canst not be ! Arise, 
and claim 
Reverence from every heart where Free- 
dom reigns. 
For what thou worshippest ! — thy 
sainted dame. 
She of the Column, honored be her name 
By all, whate'er their creed, who honor 
love ! 
And like the sacred relics of the flame 
That gave some martyr to the blessed 
above. 
To every loyal heart may thy sad embers 
prove ! 



Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair ! 
Faithful to death thy heroes should be 

sung. 
Manning the towers, while o'er their heads 

the air 



264 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



nace hung ; 
Now thicker darkening where the mine 
was sprung, 
Now briefly lightened by the cannon's 
flare, 
Now arched with fire-sparks as the bomb 
was flung, 
And reddening now with conflagra- 
tion s glare, 
While by the fatal light the foes for storm 
prepare. 



While all around was danger, strife, and 
fear, 
While the earth sliook and darkened 
was the sky, 
And wide destruction stunned the listen- 
ing ear. 
Appalled the heart, and stupefied the 
eye, — 
Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry, 
In which old Albion's heart and tongue 
unite. 
Whene'er her soul is up and pulse beats 
high, 
Whether it hail the ^wine-cup or the 
fight, 
And bid each arm be strong or bid each 
heart be light. 



Don Roderick turned him as the shout 
grew loud — 
A varied scene the changeful vision 
showed, 
For, where the ocean mingled with the 
cloud, 
A gallant navy stemmed the billows 
broad. 
From mast and stern Saint Ge'orge's 
symbol flowed. 
Blent with the silver cross to Scotland 
dear ; 
Mottling the sea their landward barges 
rowed. 
And flashed the sun on bayonet, brand, 
and spear, 
And the wild beach returned the seamen's 
jovial cheer. 



It was a dread yet spirit-stirring sight! 
The billows foamed beneath a thou- 
sand oars, 

Fast as they land the red-cross ranks 
unite. 



Legions on legions brightening all the 
shores. 
Then banners rise and cannon-signal 
roars. 
Then peals the warlike thunder of the 
drum. 
Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish 
pours. 
And patriot hopes awake and doubts 
are dumb. 
For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of 
Ocean come ! 



A various host they came — whose ranks 
display 
Each mode in which the warrior meets 
the fight: 
The deep battalion locks its firm array. 
And meditates his aim the marksman 
light : 
Far glance the lines of sabres flashing 
bright. 
Where mounted squadrons shake the 
echoing mead ; 
Lacks not artillery breathing flame and 
night, 
Nor the fleet ordnance whirled by rapid 
steed. 
That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in 
speed. 

LVIII. 

A various host — from kindred realms 
they came, 
Brethren in arms but rivals in re- 
nown — 
For yon fair bands shall merry England 
claim. 
And with their deeds of valor deck her 
crown. 
Hers their bold port, and hers their mar- 
tial frown. 
And hers their scorn of death in free- 
dom's cause, 
Their eyes of azure, and their locks of 
brown. 
And the blunt speech that bursts with- 
out a pause, 
And freeborn thoughts which league the 
soldier with the laws. 



And, O loved warriors of the minstrel's 

land! 
Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans 

wave ! 
The rugged form may mark the mountain 

band. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



265 




T '-J^l 




And harsher features, and a mien more 
grave : 
But ne'er in battle-lield throbbed heart so 
brave 
As that which beats beneath the Scot- 
tish plaid ; 
And when the pibroch bids the battle 
rave, 
And level for the charge your arms are 
laid, 
Where lives the desperate foe that for such 
onset staid? 



Hark ! from yon stately ranks what 

laughter rings, 
Mingling wild mirth with war's stern 

minstrelsy, 
His jest while each blithe comrade round 
him flings 
And moves to death with military glee : 
Boast, Erin, boast them ! tameless, frank, 
and free, 
In kindness warm and fierce in danger 
known. 
Rough nature's children, humorous as 
she : 
And He, yon Chieftain — strike the 
proudest tone 
Of thy bold harp, green Isle ! — the hero 
is thine own. 



Now on the scene Vimeira should be 
shown. 
On Talavera's fight should Roderick 
gaze. 
And hear Corunna wail her battle won. 
And see Busaco's crest with lightning 
blaze : — 
But shall fond fable mix with heroes' 
praise .-' 
Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long 
triumphs room ? 
And dare her wild-flowers mingle with 
the bays 
That claim a long eternity to bloom 
Around the warrior's crest and o'er the 
warrior's tomb ! 



Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope, 
And stretch a bold hand to the awful 
veil 
That hides futurity from anxious hope. 

Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail. 
And painting Europe rousing at the 
tale 
Of Spain's invaders from her confines 
hurled. 
While kindling nations buckle on their 
mail. 



266 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And Fame, with clarion-blast and 
wings unfurled, 
To freedom and revenge awakes an injured 
world ? 

LXIII. 

O vain, though anxious, is the glance I 
cast, 
Since Fate has marked futurity her 
own: 
Yet Fate resigns to worth the glorious 
past. 
The deeds recorded and the laurels 
won. 
Then, though the Vault of Destiny be 
gone, 
King, prelate, all the phantasms of my 
brain, 
Melted away like mist-wreaths in the 
sun. 
Yet grant for faith, for valor, and for 
Spain, 
One note of pride and fire, a patriot's 
parting strain ! 



Vi)z Hfsion of Hon Hotiericit. 



CONCLUSION. 



'Who shall command Estrella's mountain- 
tide 
Back to the source, when tempest- 
chafed, to hie ? 
Who, when Gascogne's vexed gulf is 
raging wide. 
Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's cry ? 
His magic power let such vain boaster try. 
And when the torrent shall his voice 
obey. 
And Biscay's whirlwinds list his lullaby. 
Let him stand forth and bar mine 
eagles' way, 
And they shall heed his voice and at his 
bidding stay. 



' Else ne'er to stoop till high on Lisbon's 
towers 
They close their wings, the symbol of 
our yoke, 
And their own sea hath whelmed yon red- 
cross powers ! ' 
Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock. 



To marshal, duke, and peer Gaul's leader 
spoke. 
While downward on the land his le- 
gions press. 
Before them it was rich with vine and 
flock. 
And smiled like Eden in her summer 
dress ; — 
Behind their wasteful march a reeking wil- 
derness. 



And shall the boastful chief maintain his 
word, 
TJiough Heaven hath heard the wait- 
ings of the land, 
Though Lusitania whet her vengeful 
sword. 
Though Britons arm and Wellinc;- 
TON command ? 
No ! grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand 

An adamantine barrier to his force ; 
And from its base shall wheel his shat- 
tered band. 
As from the unshaken rock the torrent 
hoarse 
Bears off its broken waves and seeks a 
devious course. 



Yet not because Alcoba's mountain-hawk 
Hath on his best and bravest made her 
food. 
In numbers confident, yon chief shall balk 
His lord's imperial thirst for spoil and 
blood : 
For full in view the promised conquest 
stood. 
And Lisbon's matrons from their walls 
might sum , 

The myriads that had half the world sub- 
dued. 
And hear the distant thunders of the 
drum 
That bids the bands of France to storm and 
havoc come. 



Four moons have heard these thunders 
idly rolled. 
Have seen these wistful myriads eye 
their prey. 
As famished wolves survey a guarded 
fold — 
But in the middle path a Lion lay ! 
At length they move — but not to battle- 
fray. 
Nor blaze yon fires where meets the 
manly fight ; 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



267 



Beacons of infamy, they light the way 
Where cowardice and cruelty unite 
To damn with double shame their ignomini- 
ous flight ! 



O triumph for the fiends of lust and 
wrath ! 
Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot, 
What wanton horrors marked their wrack- 
ful path ! 
The peasant butchered in his ruined cot, 
The hoary priest even at the altar shot. 
Childhood and age giv^en o'er to sword 
and flame, 



Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor 
the gay. 
Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's 
more worthless lay. 



But thou — unfoughten wilt thou'yield to 
Fate, 

Minion of Fortune, now miscalled in 
vain ! 

Can vantage-ground no confidence cre- 
ate, 

Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's moun- 
tain-chain ? 




Woman to infamy ; — no crime forgot. 
By which inventive demons might pro- 
claim 
Immortal hate to man and scorn of God's 
great name ! 



The rudest sentinel in Britain born 
With horror paused to view the havoc 
done, 
Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch 
forlorn, 
Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasped 

his gun. 
Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peace- 
ful son 
Exult the debt of sympathy to pay ; 
Riches nor poverty the tax shall shun. 



Vainglorious fugitive, yet turn again ! 
Behold, where, named by some pro- 
phetic seer, 
Flows Honor's Fountain, as foredoomed 
the stain 
From thy dishonored name and arms 
to clear — 
Fallen child of Fortune, turn, redeem her 
favor here ! 



Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each distant 
aid ; 
Those chief that never heard the lion 
roar ! 
Within whose souls lives not a trace por- 
trayed 
Of Talavera or Mondego's shore ! 



268 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Marshal each band thou hast and sum- 
mon more ; 
Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the 
whole ; 
Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron 
pour, 
Legion on legion on thy foeman roll, 
And weary out his arm — thou canst not 
quell his soul. 



O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's 
shore, 
Vainly thy squadron's hide Assuava's 
plain, 
And front the flying thunders as they 
roar, 
With frantic charge and tenfold odds, 
in vain ! 
And what avails thee that for Cameron 
slain 
Wild from his plaided ranks the yell 
was given ? 
Vengeance and grief gave mountain-rage 
the rein, 
And, at the bloody spear-point head- 
long driven. 
Thy despot's giant guards fled like the rack 
of heaven. 



Go, baffled boaster ! teach thy haughty 
mood 
To plead at thine imperious master's 
throne ! 
Say, thou hast left his legions in their 
blood, 
Deceived his hopes and frustrated 
thine own ; 
Say, that thine utmost skill and valor 
shown 
By British skill and valor were out- 
vied; 
Last say, thy conqueror was Welling- 
ton ! 
And if he chafe, be his own fortune 
tried — 
God and our cause to friend, the venture 
we '11 abide. 



But you, the heroes of that well-fought 
day, 
How shall a bard unknowing and un- 
known 
His meed to each victorious leader pay, 
Or bind on every brow the laurels won ? 
Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest 
tone, 



O'er the wide sea to hail Cadogan 
brave ; 
And he perchance the minstrel-note 
might own, 
iMindful of meeting brief that Fortune 
gave 
Mid yon far western isles that hear the 
Atlantic rave. 

XIII. 

Yes ! hard the task, when Britons wield 
the sword, 
To give each chief and every field its 
fame : 
Hark ! Albuera thunders Beresford, 
And red Barosa shouts for dauntless 
Gk/EME ! 
O for a verse of tumult and of flame, 
Bold as the bursting of their cannon 
sound. 
To bid the world re-echo to their fame ! 
For never upon gory battle-ground 
With conquest's well-bought wreath were 
braver victors crowned ! 



O who shall grudge him Albuera's bays 
Who brought a race regenerate to the 
field. 
Roused them to emulate their fathers' 
praise, 
Tempered their headlong rage, their 
courage steeled, 
And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield, 
And gave new edge to Lusitania's 
sword, 
And taught her sons forgotten arms to 
wield — 
Shivered my harp and burst its every 
chord, 
If it forget thy worth, victorious Beres- 
ford ! 



Not on that bloody field of battle won, 
Though Gaul's proud legions rolled like 
mist away, 
Was half his self-devoted valor shown, — 
:e gac 
day; 

But when he toiled those squadrons to 
array 
Who fought like Britons in the bloody 
game. 
Sharper than Polish pike or assagay, 
He braved the shafts of censure and 
of shame, 
And, dearer far than life, he pledged a 
soldier's fame. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



269 



Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to 
hide 
Beneath the warrior's vest affection's 
wound, 
Whose wish Heaven for his country's 
weal denied; 
Danger and fate he sought, but glory 
found. 
From clime to clime, where'er war's 
trumpets sound. 
The wanderer went ; yet, Caledonia ! 
still 
Thine was his thought in march and 
tented ground ; 
He dreamed mid Alpine cliffs of Ath- 
ole's hill, 
And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's 
lovely rill. 



O hero of a race renowned of old. 

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle- 
swell. 
Since first distinguished in the onset bold. 
Wild sounding when the Roman ram- 
part fell ! 



By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's 
knell, 
Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber owned 
its fame, 
Tummell's rude pass can of its terrors tell. 
But ne'er from prouder field arose the 
name 
Than when wild Ronda learned the con- 
quering shout of Gr^me ! 

XVIII. 

But all too long, through seas unknown 
and dark, — 
With Spenser's parable I close my 
tale, — 
By shoal and rock hath steered my ven- 
turous bark, 
And landward now I drive before the 
gale. 
And now the blue and distant shore I 
hail, 
And nearer now I see the port expand. 
And now I gladly furl my weary sail. 
And, as the prow light toucTies on the 
strand, 
I strike my red-cross flag and bind my skiff 
to land. 




^ ,-'//>. 



3^ fe e 6 5 : 



A POEM IN SIX CANTOS. 



JOHN B. S. MORRITT, ESQ., 
THIS POEM, 

THE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEMESNE OF ROKEBY, 
IS INSCRIBED, IN TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP, BY 

WALTER SCOTT. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The Scene of this Poem is laid at Rokeby, near Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, and shifts to tlie adjacent fortress of 
Barnard Castle, and to other places in that Vicinity. 

The Time occupied by the Action is a space of Five Days, Three of which are supposed to elapse between the end of 
the Fifth and the beginning of the Sixth Canto. 

The date of the supposed events is immediately subsequent to the great Battle of Marston Moor, 3d July, 1644. 
This period of public confusion has been chosen without any purpose of combining the Fable with the Militarj' or Politi- 
cal Events of the Civil War, but only as affording a degree of probability to the Fictitious Narrative now presented to 
the Public. 



Hokcbfl. 

CANTO FIRST. 



The nioon is in her summer glow, 
But hoarse and high the breezes blow, 
And, racking o'er her face, the cloud 
Varies the tincture of her shroud : 
On Barnard's towers and Tees's stream 
She changes as a guilty dream. 
When Conscience with remorse and fear 
Goads sleeping Fancy's wild career. 
Her light seems now the blush of shame. 
Seems now fierce anger's darker fiame, 
Shifting that shade to come and go. 
Like apprehension's hurried glow ; 
Then sorrow's livery dims the air, 
And dies in darkness, like despair. 
Such varied hues the warder sees 



Reflected from the woodland Tees, 
Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth. 
Sees the clouds mustering in the north, 
Hears upon turret-roof and wall 
By fits the plashing rain-drop fall. 
Lists to the breeze's boding sound. 
And wraps his shaggy mantle round. 



Those towers, which in the changeful 

gleam 
Throw murky shadows on the stream, 
Those towers of Barnard hold a guest, 
The emotions of whose troubled breast, 
In wild and strange confusion driven. 
Rival the flitting rack of heaven. 
Ere sleep stern Oswald's senses tied, 
Oft had he changed his weary side, 
Composed his limbs, and vainly sought 
By effort strong to banish thought. 



274 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Sleep came at length, but with a train 
Of feelings true and fancies vain, 
Mingling, in wild disorder cast. 
The expected future with the past. 
Conscience, anticipating time, 
Already rues the enacted crime. 
And calls her furies forth to shake 
The sounding scourge and hissing snake ; 
While her poor victim's outward throes 
Bear witness to his mental woes. 
And show what lesson may be read 
Beside a sinner's restless bed. 



Thus Oswald's laboring feelings trace 
.Strange changes in his sleeping face. 
Rapid and ominous as these 
With which the moonbeams tinge the Tees. 
'I'here might be seen of shame the blush. 
There anger's dark and fiercer flush, 
While the perturbed sleeper's hand 
Seemed grasping dagger-knife or brand. 
Rela.xed that grasp, the heavy sigh, 
The tear in the half-opening eye, 
The pallid cheek and brow, confessed 
That grief was busy in his breast : 
Nor paused that mood — a sudden start 
Impelled the life-blood from the heart ; 
Features convulsed and mutterings dread 
.Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead. 
That pang the painful slumber broke, 
And Oswald with a start awoke. 



He woke, and feared again to close 
His eyelids in such dire repose : 
He woke, — to watch the lamp, and tell 
From hour to hour the castle-bell, 
Or listen to the owlet's cry. 
Or the sad breeze that whistles by. 
Or catch by fits the tuneless rhyme 
With which the warder cheats the time, 
And envying think how. when the sun 
Bids the poor soldier's watch be done, 
Couched on his straw and fancy-free, 
He sleeps like careless infancy. 



Far townward sounds a distant tread, 
And Oswald, starting from his bed, 
Hath caught it, though no human ear, 
Unsharpened by revenge and fear, 
Could e'er distinguish horse's clank, 
Until it reached the castle bank. 
Now nigh and plain the sound appears, 
The warder's challenge now he hears. 
Then clanking chains and levers tell 
That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell. 



And, in the castle court below, 
Voices are heard, and torches glow. 
As marshalling the stranger's way 
Straight for the room where (Oswald lay; 
The cry was, ' Tidings from the host. 
Of weight — a messenger comes post.' 
Stifling the tumult of his breast. 
His answer Oswald thus expressed, 
' Bring food and wine, and trim the fire ; 
Admit the stran<rer and retire.' 



The stranger came with heavy stride ; 

The morion's plumes his visage hide. 

And the buff-coat in ample fold 

Mantles his form's gigantic mould. 

Full slender answer deigned he 

To Oswald's anxious courtesy. 

But marked by a disdainful smile 

He saw and scorned the petty wile, 

When Oswald changed the torch's place, 

Anxious that on the soldier's face 

Its partial lustre might be thrown, 

To show his looks yet hide his own. 

His guest the while laid slow aside 

The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide, 

And to the torch glanced broad and clear 

The corselet of a cuirassier; 

Then from his brows the casque he drew 

And from the dank plume dashed the dew, 

FVom gloves of mail relieved his hands 

And spread them to the kindling brands. 

And, turning to the genial board, 

Without a health or pledge or word 

Of meet and social reverence said. 

Deeply he drank and fiercely fed. 

As free from ceremony's sway, 

As famished wolf that tears his prey. 



With deep impatience, tinged with fear, 
His host beheld him gorge his cheer, 
And quaff the full carouse that lent 
His brow a fiercer hardiment. 
Now Oswald stood a space aside. 
Now paced the room with hasty stride, 
In feverish agony to learn 
Tidings of deep and dread concern, 
Cursing each moment that his guest 
Protracted o'er his rufiian feast. 
Yet, viewing with alarm at last 
The end of that uncouth repast. 
Almost he seemed their haste to rue 
As at his sign his train withdrew, 
And left him with the stranger, free 
To question of his mystery. 
Then did his silence long proclaim 
A struggle between fear and shame. 



ROKEBY. 



275 




Much in the stranger's mien appears 
To justify suspicious fears. 
On his darl< face a scorching cliine 
And toil had done the work of time, 
Roughened the brow, the temples bared. 
And sable hairs with silver shared, 
Yet left — what age alone could tame — 
The lip of pride, the eye of flame ; 
The full-drawn lip that upward curled, 
The eye that seemed to scorn the world 
That lip had terror never blanched ; 
Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop quenched 
The flash severe of swarthy glow 
That mocked at pain and knew not woe. 
Inured to danger's direst form, 
Tornado and earthquake, flood and storm, 
Death had he seen by sudden blow. 
By wasting plague, by tortures slow. 
By mine or breach, by steel or ball, 
Knew all his shapes and scorned them all. 

IX. 

But yet, though Bertram's hardened look 
Unmoved could blood and danger brook, 
Still worse than apathy had place 
On his swart brow and callous face ; 
For evil passions cherished long 
Had ploughed them with impressions strong. 
All that gives gloss to sin, al,l gay 
Light folly, past with youth away, 



But rooted stood in manhood's hour 
The weeds of vice without their flower. 
And yet the soil in which they grew. 
Had it been tamed when life was new, 
Had depth and vigor to bring forth 
The hardier fruits of virtuous worth. 
Not that e'en then liis heart had known 
The gentler feelings' kindly tone ; 
But lavish waste had been refined 
To bounty in his chastened mind. 
And lust of gold, that waste to feed, 
Been lost in love of glory's meed. 
And, frantic then no more, his pride 
Had ta'en fair virtue for its cuide. 



Even now. by conscience unrestrained. 
Clogged by gross vice, by slaughter stained, 
.Still knew his daring soul to soar. 
And mastery o'er the mind he bore ; 
For meaner guilt or heart less hard 
Quailed beneath Bertram's bold regard. 
And this felt Oswald, while in vain 
He strove by many a winding train 
To lure his sullen guest to show 
Unasked the news he longed to know, 
While on, far other subject hung 
His heart than faltered from his tongue. 
Yet naught for that his guest did deign 
To note or spare his secret pain. 



276 



SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. 



But still in stern and stubborn sort 
Returned him answer dark and short. 
Or started from the theme to range 
In loose digression wild and strange, 
And forced the embarrassed host to buy 
By query close direct reply. 



Awhile he glozed upon the cause 
Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws, 
And Church reformed — but felt rebuke 
Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look, 
Then stammered — ' Has a tield been 

fought? 
Has Bertram news of battle brought ? 
For sure a soldier, famed so far 
In foreign fields for feats of war. 
On eve of fight ne'er left the host 
Until the field were won and lost.' 
' Here, in your towers by circling Tees, 
You, Oswald Wycliffe, rest at ease ; 
Why deem it strange that others come 
To share such safe and easy home, 
From fields where clanger, death, and toil 
Are the reward of civil broil } ' — 
' Nay, mock not, friend ! since well we 

know 
The near advances of the foe. 
To mar our northern army's work, 
Encamped before beleaguered York 
Thy horse with valiant Fairfax lay, 
And must have fought — how went the 

dav .? ' 



' Wouldst hear the tale? — On Marston 

heath 
iMet front to front the ranks of death ; 
Flourished the trumpets fierce, and now 
Fired was each eye and flushed each brow : 
On either side loud clamors ring, 
" God and the Cause ! " — '' God and the 

King ! " 
Right English all, they rushed to blows. 
With naught to win and all to lose. 
I could have laughed — but lacked the 

time — 
To see, in phrenesy sublime. 
How the fierce zealots fought and bled 
For king or state, as humor led ; 
Some for a dream of public good, 
Some for church-tippet, gown, and hood, 
Draining their veins, in death to claim 
A patriot's or a martyr's name. — ■ 
Led Bertram Risingham the hearts 
That countered there on adverse parts, 
No superstitious fool had I 
Sought El Dorados in the sky ! 
Chili had heard me through her states, 
And Lima oped her silver gates. 



Rich Mexico I had marched through. 
And sacked the splendors of Peru, 
Till sunk Pizarro's daring name. 
And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame.' - 
' Still from the purpose wilt thou stray ! 
Good gentle friend, how went the day ? 



' Good am I deemed at trumpet sound, 

And good where goblets dance the round. 

Though gentle ne'er was joined till now 

With rugged Bertram's breast and brow. — 

But I resume. The battle's rage 

Was like the strife which currents wage 

Where Orinoco in his pride 

Rolls to the main no tribute tide. 

But 'gainst broad ocean urges far 

A rival sea of roaring war; 

While, in ten thousand eddies driven. 

The billows fling their' foam to heaven. 

And the pale pilot seeks in vain 

Where rolls the river, where the main 

Even thus upon the bloody field 

The eddying tides of conflict wheeled 

Ambiguous, till that heart of flame. 

Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came. 

Hurling against our spears a line 

Of gallants fiery as their wine ; 

Then ours, though stubborn in their zeal. 

In zeal's despite began to reel. 

What wouldst thou more ? — in tumult tost. 

Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost. 

A thousand men who drew the sword 

For both the Houses and the Word, 

Preached forth from hamlet, grange, and 

down. 
To curb the crosier and the crown, 
Now, stark and stiff, lie stretched in gore. 
And ne'er shall rail at mitre more. — 
Thus fared it when I left tlie fight 
With the good Cause and Commons' right.' — 



' Disastrous news ! ' dark Wycliffe said ; 
Assumed despondence bent his head. 
While troubled joy was in his eye, 
The well-feigned sorrow to belie. — 
' Disastrous news ! — when needed most, 
Told ye not that your chiefs were lost ? 
Complete the woful tale and say 
Who fell upon that fatal day. 
What leaders of repute and name 
Bought by their death a deathless fame. 
If such my direst foeman's doom. 
My tears shall dew his honored tomb. — 
No answer? — Friend, of all our host. 
Thou know'stwhom I should hate the most, 
Whom thou too once wert wont to hate, 
Yet leavest me doubtful of his fate.' — 
With look unmoved — ' Of friend or foe, 



ROKEBY. 



277 




Aught,' answered Bertram, ' wouldst thou 

know, 
Demand in simple terms and plain, 
A soldier's answer shalt thou gain ; 
For question dark or riddle high 
I have nor judgment nor reply.' 



The wrath his art and fear suppressed 
Now blazed at once in Wycliffe's breast. 



And brave from man so meanly born 
Roused his hereditary scorn. 
' Wretch ! hast thou paid thy bloody debt ? 
Philip of Mortham. lives he yet ? 
False to thy patron or thine oath. 
Traitorous or perjured, one or both. 
Slave ! hast thou kept thy promise plight. 
To slay thy leader in the fight ? ' 
Then from his seat the soldier sprung. 
And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrung ; 



278 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



His grasp, as hard as glove of mail, 
Forced the red blood-drop from the nail — 
' A health ! ' he cried : and ere he quaffed 
Flung from him Wycliffe"s hand and 

laughed — 
' Now, Oswald Wycliffe. speaks th\' heart ! 
Now play'st thou well thy genuine part ! 
Worthy, but for thy craven fear, 
Like me to roam a buccaneer. 
What reck'st thou of the Cause divine, 
If Mortham's wealth and lands be thine ? 
What carest thou for beleaguered York, 
If this good hand have done its work? 
Or what though Fairfax and his best 
Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast. 
If Philip Mortham with them lie, 
Lending his life-blood to the dye ? — 
Sit, then ! and as mid comrades free 
Carousing after victory, 
When tales are told of blood and fear 
That boys and women shrink to hear, 
From point to point I frankly tell 
The deed of death as it befell. 



' When pujposed vengeance I forego, 

Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe ; 

And when an insult I forgive, 

Then brand me as a slave and live ! — 

Philip of Mortham is with those 

Whom Bertram Risingham calls foes ; 

Or whom more sure revenge attends. 

If numbered with ungrateful friends. 

As was his wont, ere battle glowed, 

Along the marshalled ranks he rode. 

And wore his visor up the while. 

I saw his melancholy smile 

When, full opposed in front, he knew 

Where Rokeby's kindred banner flew. 

■'And thus,"' he said, " will friends divide ! "' — 

I heard, and thought how side by side 

We two had turned the battle's tide 

In many a well-debated field 

Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield. 

1 thought on Darien's deserts pale 

Where death bestrides the evening gale : 

How o'er my friend my cloak I threw. 

And fenceless faced the deadly dew ; 

I thought on Quariana's cliff 

Where, rescued from our foundering skiff. 

Through the white breakers' wrath 1 bore 

Exhausted Mortham to the shore; 

And, when his side an arrow found, 

I sucked the Indian's venomed wound. 

These thoughts like torrents rushed along. 

To sweep-away my purpose strong. 

XVII. 

' Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent ; 
Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent. 



When Mortham bade me, as of yore, 
Be near him in the battle's roar, 
I scarcely saw the spears laid low, 
I scarcely heard the trumpets blow ; 
Lost was the war in inward strife. 
Debating Mortham's death or life. 
"T was then I thought how, lured to come 
As partner of his wealth and home. 
Years of piratic wandering o'er, 
With him I sought our native shore. 
But Mortham's lord grew far estranged 
From the bold heart with whom he ranged: 
Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears. 
Saddened and dimmed descending years ; 
The wily priests their victim sought. 
And damned each free-born deed and 

. thought. 
Then must I seek another home. 
My license shook his sober dome ; 
If gold he gave, in one wild day 
I revelled thrice the sum away. 
An idle outcast then I strayed, ^ 
Unfit for tillage or for trade. 
Deemed, like the steel of rusted lance. 
Useless and dangerous at once. 
The women feared my hardy look, 
At my approach the peaceful shook ; 
The merchant saw my glance of flame, 
And locked his hoards when Bertram came ; 
Each child of coward peace kept far 
From the neglected son of war. 



'But civil discord gave the call. 
And made my trade the trade of all. 
By Mortham urged, I came again 
His vassals to the fight to train. 
What guerdon waited on my care ? 
I could not cant of creed or prayer ; 
Sour fanatics each trust obtained. 
And I, dishonored and disdained. 
Gained but the high and happy lot 
In these poor arms to front the shot ! — 
All this thou know'st, thy gestures tell : 
Yet hear it o'er and mark it well. 
'T is honor bids me now relate 
Each circumstance of Mortham's fate. 



' Thoughts, from the tongue that slowly part, 
Glance quick as lightning through the heart. 
As my spur pressed my courser's side, 
Philip of Mortham's cause was tried. 
And ere the charging squadrons mixed 
His plea was cast, his doom was fixed. 
1 watched him through the doubtful fray, 
That changed as March's moody day, 
Till, like a stream that bursts its bank, 
Fierce Rupert thundered on our flank. 



ROKEBY. 



279 




'Twas then, midst tumult, smoke, and strife, 
Where each man fought for death or life, 
'T was then I fired my petronel. 
And Mortham, steed and rider, fell. 
One dying look he upward cast, 
Of wrath and anguish — 't was his last. 
Think not that there I stopped, to view 
What of the battle should ensue ; 
But ere I cleared that bloody press, 
Our northern horse ran masterless ; 
Monckton and Mitton told the news 
How troops of Roundheads choked the 

Ouse, 
And many a bonny Scot aghast. 
Spurring his palfrey northward, past. 
Cursing the day when zeal or meed 
First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed. 
Yet when I reached the banks of Swale, 
Had rumor learned another tale ; 
With his barbed horse, fresh tidings say. 
Stout Cromwell has redeemed the day : 
But whether false the news or true, 
Oswald, I reck as light as you.' 

XX. 

Not then by Wycliffe might be shown 
How his pride startled at the tone 
In which his complice, fierce and free, 
Asserted guilt's equality. ' 

In smoothest terms his speech he wove 



Of endless friendship, faith, and love ; 
Promised and vowed in courteous sort, 
But Bertram broke professions short. 
' Wycliffe, be sure not here I stay, 
No, scarcely till the rising day ; 
Warned by the legends of my youth, 
I trust not an associate's truth. 
Do not my native dales prolong 
Of Percy Rede the tragic song. 
Trained forward to his bloody fall, 
By Girsonfield, that treacherous Hall ? 
Oft by the Pringle's haunted side 
The shepherd sees his spectre glide. 
And near the spot that gave me name, 
The moated mound of Risingham, 
Where Reed upon her margin sees 
Sweet Woodburne's cottages and trees. 
Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 
An outlaw's image on the stone ; 
Unmatched in strength, a giant he, 
With quivered back and kirtled knee. 
Ask how he died, that hunter bold. 
The tameless monarch of the wold. 
And age and infancy can tell 
By brother's treachery he fell. 
Thus warned by legends of m\- youth, 
I trust to no associate's truth. 

XXI. 

'When last we reasoned of this deed, 
Naught, I bethink me, was agreed, 



28o 



SCOTT S POETICAL WORKS. 



Or by what rule, or when, or where. 
The wealth of Mortham we should share ; 
Then list while I the portion name 
Our differing laws give each to claim. 
Thou, vassal sworn to England's throne, 
Her rules of heritage must own ; 
They deal thee, as to nearest heir, 
Thy kinsman's lands and livings fair. 
And these I yield : — do thou revere 
The statutes of the buccaneer. 
Friend to the sea, and foeman sworn 
To all that on her waves are borne. 
When falls a mate in battle broil 
His comrade heirs his portioned spoil ; 
When dies in fight a daring foe 
He claims his wealth who struck the blow ; 
And either rule to me assigns 
Those spoils of Indian seas and mines 
Hoarded in Mortham's caverns dark ; 
Ingot of gold and diamond spark. 
Chalice and plate from churches borne, 
And gems from shrieking beauty torn. 
Each string of pearl, each silver bar, 
And all the wealth of western war. 
I go to search where, dark and deep, 
Those trans-Atlantic treasures sleep. 
Thou must along — for, lacking thee. 
The heir will scarce find entrance free ; 
And then farewell. I haste to try 
Each varied pleasure wealth can buy ; 
When cloyed each wish, these wars afford 
Fresh work for Bertram's restless sword.' 

XXII. 

An undecided answer hung 
On Oswald's hesitating tongue. 
Despite his craft, he heard with awe 
This rufiian stabber fix the law; 
While his own troubled passions veer 
Through hatred, joy, regret, and fear : — 
Joyed at the soul that Bertram flies. 
He grudged the murderer's mighty prize, 
Hated his pride's presumptuous tone. 
And feared to wend with him alone. 
At length, that middle course to steer 
To cowardice and craft so dear, 
' His charge,' he said, ' would ill allow 
His absence from the fortress now ; 
Wilfrid on Bertram should attend, 
His son should journey with his friend.' 



Contempt kept Bertram's anger down, 
And wreathed to savage smile his frown. 
' Wilfrid, or thou — 't is one to me. 
Whichever bears the golden key. 
Yet think not but I mark, and smile 
To mark, thy poor and selfish wile ! 
If injury from me you fear, 
What, Oswald Wycliffe, shields thee here? 



I 've sprung from walls more high than 

these, 
r ve swam through deeper streams than 

Tees. 
Might I not stab thee ere one yell 
Could rouse the distant sentinel ? 
Start not — it is not my design, 
But, if it were, weak fence were thine ; 
And, trust me that in time of need 
This hand hath done more desperate deed. 
Go, haste and rouse thy slumbering son ; 
Time calls, and I must needs be gone." 



Naught of his sire's ungenerous part 

Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart, 

A heart too soft from early life 

To hold with fortune needful strife. 

His sire, while yet a hardier race 

Of numerous sons were Wycliffe's grace, 

On Wilfrid set contemptuous brand 

For feeble heart and forceless hand ; 

But a fond mother's care and joy 

Were centred in her sickly boy. 

No touch of childhood's frolic mood 

Showed the elastic spring of blood ; 

Hour after hour he loved to pore 

On Shakespeare's rieh and varied lore. 

But turned from martial scenes and light, 

From Falstaff's feast and Percy's fight, 

To ponder Jaques' moral strain. 

And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain, 

And weep himself to soft repose 

O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 



In youth he sought not pleasures found 
By youth in horse and hawk and hound, 
But loved the quiet joys that wake 
By lonely stream and silent lake ; 
In Deepdale's solitude to lie. 
Where all is cliff and copse and sky ; 
To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak. 
Or lone Pendragon's mound to seek. 
Such was his wont ; and there his dream 
Soared on some wild fantastic theme 
Of faithful love or ceaseless spring, 
Till Contemplation's wearied wing 
The enthusiast could no more sustain. 
And sad he sunk to earth again. 



XXVI. 

He loved — as many a lay can tell, 
Preserved in Stanmore's lonely dell; 
For his was minstrel's skill, he caught 
The art unteachable, untaught ; 
He loved — his soul did nature frame 



ROKEBY. 



281 



For love, and fancy nursed the flame ; 
Vainly he loved — for seldom swain 
Of such soft mould is loved again ; 
Silent he loved — in every gaze 
Was passion, friendship in his phrase : 
So mused his life away — till died 
His brethren all, their father's pride. 
Wilfrid is now the only heir 
Of all his stratagems and care, 
And destined darkling to pursue 
Ambition's maze by Oswald's clue. 



Wilfrid must love and woo the bright 
Matilda, heir of RoKeby's knight. 
To love her was an easy hest, 
The secret empress of his breast ; 
To woo her was a harder task 
To one that durst not hope or ask. 
Yet all Matilda could she gave 
In pity to her gentle slave; 
Friendship, esteem, and fair regard. 
And praise, the poet's best reward ! 
She read the tales his taste approved, 
And sung the lays he framed or loved ; 
Yet, loath to nurse the fatal flame 
Of hopeless love in friendship's name. 
In kind caprice she oft withdrew 
The favoring glance to friendship due, 
Then grieved to see her victim's pain. 
And sfave the dangerous smiles again. 



So did the suit of Wilfrid stand 

When war's loud summons waked the 

land. 
Three banners, floating o'er the Tees, 
The woe-foreboding peasant sees ; 
In concert oft they braved of old 
The bordering Scot's incursion bold : 
Frowning defiance in their pride, 
Their vassals now and lords divide. 
From his fair hall on Greta banks. 
The Knight of Rokeby led his ranks. 
To aid the valiant northern earls 
Who drew the sword for royal Charles. 
Mortham, by marriage near allied, — 
His sister had been Rokeby 's bride, 
Though long before the civil fray 
In peaceful grave the lady lay, — 
Philip of Mortham raised his band. 
And marched at Fairfax's command ; 
While Wycliffe, bound by many a train 
Of kindred art with wily Vane, 
Less prompt to brave the bloody field. 
Made Barnard's battlements his shield. 
Secured them with his Lunedale powers. 
And for the Commons lield the towers. 



The lovely heir of Rokeby's Knight 
Waits in his halls the event of fight ; 
For England's war revered the claim 
Of every unprotected name, 
And spared amid its fiercest rage 
Childhood and womanhood and age. 
But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe, 
Must the dear privilege forego. 
By Greta's side in evening gray. 
To steal upon Matilda's way. 
Striving with fond hypocrisy 
For careless step and vacant eye ; 
Calming each anxious look and glance. 
To give the meeting all to chance, 
Or framing as a fair excuse 
The book, the pencil, or the muse ; 
Something to give, to sing, to say. 
Some modern tale, some ancient lay. 
Then, while the longed-for minutes last, 
Ah ! minutes quickly over-past ! — 
Recording each expression free 
Of kind or careless courtesy, 
Each friendly look, each softer tone. 
As food for fancy when alone. 
All this is o'er — but still unseen 
Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood green. 
To watch Matilda's wonted round, 
While springs his heart at every sound. 
She comes ! — 'tis but a passing sight. 
Yet serves to cheat his weary night ; 
She comes not — he will wait the hour 
When her lamp lightens in the tower ; 
'T is something yet if, as she past, 
Her shade is o'er the lattice cast. 
' What is my life, my hope ? ' he said ; 
' Alas ! a transitory shade.' 



Thus wore his life, though reason strove 
For mastery in vain with love, 
Forcing upon his thoughts the sum 
Of present woe and ills to come. 
While still he turned impatient ear 
From Truth's intrusive voice severe. 
Gentle, indifferent, and subdued, 
In all but this unmoved he viewed 
Each outward change of ill and good : 
But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild. 
Was Fancy's spoiled and wayward child ; 
In her bright car she bade him ride. 
With one fair form to grace his side, 
Or, in some wild and lone retreat. 
Flung her high spells around his seat, 
Bathed in her dews his languid head. 
Her fairy mantle o'er him spread. 
For him her opiates gave to flow. 
Which he who tastes can ne'er forego, 
And placed him in her circle, free 



282 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



From every stern reality, 

Till to the Visionary seem 

Her day-dreams truth, and truth a dream. 



Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains, 
Winnmg from Reason's hand the reins. 
Pity and woe ! for such a mind 
Is soft, contemplative, and kind ; 
And woe to those who train such youth, 
And spare to press the rights of truth. 
The mind to strengthen and anneal 
While on the stithy glows the steel ! 
O teach him while your lessons last 
To judge the present by the past; 
Remind him of each wish pursued, 
How rich it glowed with promised good ; 
Remind him of each wish enjoyed. 
How soon his hopes possession cloyed ! 
Tell him we play unequal game 
Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's aim ; 
And, ere he strip him for her race. 
Show the conditions of the chase : 
Two sisters by the goal are set. 
Cold Disappointment and Regret ; 
One disenchants the winner's eyes, 
And strips of all its worth the prize. 
While one augments its gaudy show, 
More to enhance the loser's woe. 
The victor sees his fairy gold 
Transformed when won to drossy mould. 
But still the vanquished mourns his loss, 
And rues as gold that irlittering dross. 



More wouldst thou know — yon tower 

survey. 
Yon couch unpressed since parting day. 
Yon untrimmed lamp, whose yellow gleam 
Is mingling with the cold moonbeam, 
And yon thin form ! — the hectic red 
On his pale cheek unequal spread ; 
The head reclined, the loosened hair, 
The limbs relaxed, the mournful air. — 
See, he looks up ; — a woful smile 
Lightens his woe-worn cheek a while, — 
'T is Fancy wakes some idle thought, 
To gild the ruin she has wrought ; 
For, like the bat of Indian brakes. 
Her pinions fan the wound she makes. 
And, soothing thus the dreamer's pain. 
She drinks his life-blood from the vein. 
Now to the lattice turn his eyes. 
Vain hope ! to see the sun arise. 
The moon with clouds is still o'ercast, 
Still howls by fits the stormy blast ; 
Another hour must wear away 
Ere the east kindle into day. 
And hark ! to waste that weary hour, 
He tries the minstrel's magic power. 



Song. 



TO THE MOON. 



Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 

Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky ! 
Hail, though the mists that o'er thee stream 

Lend to thy brow their sullen dye ! 
How should thy pure and peaceful eye 

Untroubled view our scenes below, 
Or how a tearless beam supply 

To light a world of war and woe ! 

Fair Queen ! I will not blame thee now, 

As once by Greta's fairy side ; 
Each little cloud that dimmed thy brow 

Did then an angel's beauty hide. 
And of the shades I then could chide 

Still are the thoughts to memory dear, 
For, while a softer strain I tried, 

They hid my blush and calmed my fear. 

Then did I swear thy ray serene 

Was formed to light some lonely dell, 
By two fond lovers only seen. 

Reflected from the crystal well ; 
Or sleeping on their mossy cell, 

Or quivering on the lattice bright, 
Or glancing on their couch, to tell 

How swiftly wanes the summer night ! 



He starts — a step at this lone hour ! 

A voice ! — his father seeks the tower, 

With haggard look and troubled sense. 

Fresh from his dreadful conference. 

' Wilfrid ! — what, not to sleep addressed .' • 

Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest. 

Mortham has fallen on Marston-moor; 

Bertram brings warrant to secure 

His treasures, bought by spoil and blood, 

For the state's use and public good. 

The menials will thy voice obey ; 

Let his commission have its way, 

In every point, in every word.' 

Then, in a whisper, — ' Take thy sword ! 

Bertram is — what I must not tell. 

I hear his hasty step — farewell ! ' 



Uok-cbg. 

CANTO SECOND. 
I. 

Far in the chambers of the west, 
The gale had sighed itself to rest ; 
The moon was cloudless now and clear, 
But pale and soon to disappear. 



ROKEBY. 



283 



•fif 



I IL ^J il * 













The thin gray clouds waxed dimly light 
On Brusleton and Houghton height ; 
And the rich dale that eastward lay 
Waited the wakening touch of day, 
To give its woods and cultured plain, 
And towers and spires, to light again. 
But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell, 
And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-fell, 
And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar, 
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar ; 
While, as a livelier twilight falls, 
Emerge proud Barnard's bannered walls. 
High crowned he sits in dawning pale, 
The sovereign of the lovely vale. 



What prospects from his watch-tower high 
Gleam gradual on the warder's eye ! — 
Far sweeping to the east, he sees 
Down his deep woods the course of Tees, 
And tracks his wanderings by the steam 
Of summer vapors from the stream ; 
And ere he pace his destined hour 
By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower, 
These silver mists shall melt away 
And dew the woods with glittering spray. 
Then in broad lustre shall be shown 
That mighty trench of living stone. 
And each huge trunk that from the side 
Reclines him o'er the darksome tide 



Where Tees, full many a fathom low. 
Wears with his rage no common foe ; 
For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here, 
Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce career, 
Condemned to mine a channelled way 
O'er solid sheets of marble gray. 



Nor Tees alone in dawning bright 

Shall rush upon the ravished sight ; 

But many a tributary stream 

Each from its own dark dell shall gleam : 

Staindrop, who from her sylvan bowers 

Salutes proud Raby's battled towers : 

The rural brook of Egliston, 

And Balder, named from Odin's son ; 

And Greta, to whose banks ere long 

We lead the lovers of the song; 

And silver Lune from Stanmore wild. 

And fairy Thorsgill's murmuring child. 

And last and least, but loveliest still, 

Romantic Deepdale's slender rilL 

Who in that dim-wood glen hath strayed, 

Yet longed for Roslin's magic glade.'' 

Who, wandering there, hath sought to 

change 
Even for that vale so stern and strange 
Where Cartland's crags, fantastic rent. 
Through her green copse like spires are 

sent? 



284 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Yet, Albin, yet the praise be thine, 

Thy scenes and story to combine ! 

Thou bid'st him who by Roslin strays 

List to the deeds of other days ; 

Mid Cartland's crags thou show'st the 

cave. 
The refuge of thy champion brave ; 
Giving each rock its storied tale. 
Pouring a lay for every dale, 
Knitting, as with a moral band, 
Thy native legends with thy land, 
To lend each scene the interest high 
Which genius beams from Beauty's eye. 



Bertram awaited not the sight 

Which sunrise shows from Barnard's height. 

But from the towers, preventing day, 

With Wilfrid took his early way. 

While misty dawn and moonbeam pale 

Still mingled in the silent dale. 

By Barnard's bridge of stately stone 

The southern bank of Tees they won ; 

Their winding path then eastward cast. 

And EgHston's gray ruins passed ; 

Each on his own deep visions bent, 

Silent and sad they onward went. 

Well may you think that Bertram's mood 

To Wilfrid savage seemed and rude ; 

Well may you think bold Risingham 

Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame ; 

And small the intercourse, I ween. 

Such uncongenial souls between. 



Stern Bertram shunned the nearer way 
Through Rokeby's park and chase that lay. 
And, skirting high the valley's ridge. 
They crossed by Greta's ancient bridge. 
Descending where her waters wind 
Free for a space and unconfined 
As, 'scaped from Brignall's dark-wood 

glen. 
She seeks wild Mortham's deeper den. 
There, as his eye glanced o'er the mound 
Raised by that Legion long renowned 
Whose votive shrine asserts their claim 
Of pious, faithful, conquering fame, 
' Stern sons of war ! ' sad Wilfrid sighed. 
' Behold the boast of Roman pride ! 
What now of all your toils are known .'' 
A grassy trench, a broken stone ! ' — 
This to himself ; for moral strain 
To Bertram were addressed in vain. 



Of different mood a deeper sigh 

Awoke when Rokeby's turrets high 

Were northward in the dawning seen 

To rear them o'er the thicket green. 

O then, though Spenser's self had strayed 

Beside him through the lovely glade. 

Lending his rich luxuriant glow 

Of fancy all its charms to show. 

Pointing the stream rejoicing free 

As captive set at liberty, 

Flashing her sparkling waves abroad, 




ROKEB V. 



285 



And clamoring joyful on her road; 
Pointing where, up the sunny banks, 
The trees retire in scattered ranks. 
Save where, advanced before the rest. 
On knoll or hillock rears his crest. 
Lonely and huge, the giant Oak, 
As champions when their band is broke 
Stand forth to guard tlie rearward post, 
The bulwark of the scattered host — 
All this and more might Spenser say. 
Yet waste in vain his magic lay, 
While Wilfrid eyed the distant tower 
Whose lattice lights Matilda's bower. 



The open vale is soon passed o'er, 
Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more ; 
Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep, 
A wild and darker course they keep, 
A stern and lone yet lovely road 
As e'er the foot of minstrel trode ! 
Broad shadows o'er their passage fell. 
Deeper and narrower grew the dell ; 
It seemed some mountam, rent and riven, 
A channel for the stream had given. 
So high the cliffs of limestone gray 
Hung beetling o'er the torrent's way, 
Yielding along their rugged base 
A flinty footpath's niggard space, 
Where he who winds "twixt rock and wave 
May hear the headlong torrent rave, 
And like a steed in frantic fit. 
That flings the froth from curb and bit, 
May view her chafe her waves to spray 
O'er every rock that bars her way, 
Till foam-globes on her eddies ride, 
Thick as the schemes of human pride 
That down life's current drive amain, 
As frail, as frothy, and as vain ! 



The cliffs that rear their haughty head 
High o'er the river's darksome bed 
Were now all naked, wild, and gray. 
Now waving all with greenwood spray ; 
Here trees to every crevice clung 
And o'er the dell their branches hung; 
And there, all splintered and uneven, 
The shivered rocks ascend to heaven; 
Oft, too, the ivy swathed their breast 
And wreathed its garland round their crest. 
Or from the sj^ires bade loosely flare 
Its tendrils in the middle air. 
As pennons wont to wave of old 
O'er the high feast of baron bold, 
When revelled loud the feudal rout 
And the arched halls returned their shout, 
Such and more wild is Greta's roar, 
And such the echoes from her shore. 



And so the ivied banners gleam. 
Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream. 



Now from the stream the rocks recede. 

But leave between no sunny mead, 

No, nor the spot of pebbly sand 

Oft found by such a mountain strand. 

Forming such warm and dry retreat 

As fancy deems the lonely seat 

Where hermit, wandering from his cell, 

His rosary might love to tell. 

But here 'twixt rock and river grew 

A dismal grove of sable yew, 

With whose sad tints were mingled seen 

The blighted fir's sepulchral green. 

Seemed that the trees their shadows cast 

The earth that nourished them to blast ; 

For never knew that swarthy grove 

The verdant hue that fairies love, 

Nor wilding green nor woodland flower 

Arose within its baleful bower : 

The dank and sable earth receives 

Its only carpet from the leaves 

That, from the withering branches cast. 

Bestrewed the ground with every blast. 

Though now the sun was o'er the hill, 

In this dark spot 'twas twilight still. 

Save that on Greta's farther side 

Some straggling beams through copsewood 

glide ; 
And wild and savage contrast made 
That dingle's deep and funeral shade 
With the bright tints of early day, 
Which, glimmering through the ivy spray, 
On the opposing summit lay. 



The lated peasant shunned the dell ; 

For Superstition wont to tell 

Of many a grisly sound and sight. 

Scaring its path at dead of night. 

When Christmas logs blaze high and wide 

Such wonders speed the festal tide. 

While Curiosity and Fear, 

Pleasure and Pain, sit crouching near, 

Till childhood's cheek no longer glows, 

And village maidens lose the rose. 

The thrilling interest rises higher. 

The circle closes nigh and nigher, 

And shuddering glance is cast behind. 

As louder moans the wintry wind. 

Believe that fitting scene was laid 

For such wild tales in Mortham glade ; 

For who had seen on Greta's side 

By that dim light fierce Bertram stride, 

In such a spot, at such an hour, — 

If touched by Superstition's power. 

Might well have deemed that Hell had given 



286 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



A murderer's ghost to upper heaven, 
While Wilfrid's form had seemed to glide 
Like his pale victim by his side. 



Nor think to village swains alone 
Are these unearthly terrors known. 
For not to rank nor sex confined 
Is this vain ague of the mind ; 
Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard, 
'Gainst faith and love and pity barred. 
Have quaked, like aspen leaves in May, 
Beneath its universal sway. 
Bertram had listed many a tale 
Of wonder in his native dale. 
That in his secret soul retained 
The credence they in childhood gained : 
Nor less his wild adventurous youth 
Believed in every legend's truth ; 
Learned when beneath the tropic gale 
Full swelled the vessel's steady sail, 
And the broad Indian moon her light 
Poured on the watch of middle night, 
Wlien seamen love to hear and tell 
Of portent, prodigy, and spell : 
What gales are sold on Lapland's shore, 
How whistle rash bids tempests roar. 
Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite, 
Of Erick's cap and Elmo's light ; 
Or of that Phantom Ship whose form 
Shoots like a meteor through the storm 
When the dark scud comes driving hard, 
And lowered is every top-sail yard, 
And canvass wove in earthly looms 
No more to brave the storm presumes ! 
Then mid the war of sea and sky. 
Top and top-gallant hoisted high. 
Full spread and crowded every sail, 
The Demon Frigate braves the gale. 
And well the doomed spectators know 
The harbinger of wreck and woe. 



XII. 

Then, too, were told in stifled tone 
Marvels and omens all their own ; 
How, by some desert isle or key 
Where Spaniards wrought their cruelty. 
Or where the savage pirate's mood 
Repaid it home in deeds of blood. 
Strange nightly sounds of woe and fear 
Appalled the listening buccaneer. 
Whose light-armed shallop anchored lay 
In ambush by the lonely bay. 
The groan of grief, the shriek of pain, 
Ring from the moonlight groves of cane 
The fierce adventurer's heart they scare, 
Who wearies memory for a prayer. 
Curses the roadstead, and with gale 
Of early morning lifts the sail, 



To give, in thirst of blood and prey, 
A legend for another bay. 



Thus, as a man, a youth, a child. 
Trained in the mystic and the wild. 
With this on Bertram's soul at times 
Rushed a dark feeling of his crimes ; 
Such to his troubled soul their form 
As the pale Death-ship to the storm. 
And such their omen dim and dread 
As shrieks and voices of the dead. 
That pang, whose transitory force 
Hovered 'twixt horror and remorse — 
That pang, perchance, his bosom pressed 
As Wilfrid sudden he addressed : 
' Wilfrid, this glen is never trod 
Until the sun rides high abroad. 
Yet twice have I beheld to-day 
A form that seemed to dog our way ; 
Twice from my glance it seemed to flee 
And shroud itself by cliff or tree. 
How think'st thou ? — Is our path waylaid .'' 
Or hath thy sire my trust betrayed .'' 
If so ' — Ere, starting from his dream 
That turned upon a gentler theme, 
Wilfrid had roused him to replj-, 
Bertram sprung forward, shouting high, 
' Whate'er thou art, thou now shalt stand ! ' 
And forth he darted, sword in hand. 



As bursts the levin in its wrath. 

He shot him down the sounding path ; 

Rock, wood, and stream rang wildly out 

To his loud step and savage shout. 

Seems that the object of his race 

Hath scaled the cliffs ; his frantic chase 

Sidelong he turns, and now 't is bent 

Right up the rock's tall battlement ; 

Straining each sinew to ascend, 

Foot, hand, and knee their aid must lend. 

Wilfrid, all dizzy with dismay. 

Views from beneath his dreadful way : 

Now to the oak's warped roots he clings, 

Now trusts his weight to ivy strings ; 

Now, like the wild-goat, must he dare 

An unsupported leap in air ; 

Hid in the shrubby rain-course now. 

You mark him by the crashing bough. 

And by his corselet's sullen clank. 

And by the stones sjjurned from the bank. 

And by the hawk scared from her nest. 

And raven's croaking o'er their guest, 

Wlio deem his forfeit limbs shall pay 

The tribute of his bold essay. 



See, he emerges ! — desperate now 
All farther course — yon beetling brow, 



ROKEBY. 



287 



In craggy nakedness sublime, 
What heart or foot shall dare to climb ? 
It bears no tendril for his clasp, 
Presents no angle to his grasp : 
Sole stay his foot may rest upon 
Is yon earth-bedded jetting stone. 
Balanced on such precarious prop, 
He strains his grasp to reach the top. 
Just as the dangerous stretch he makes, 
By heaven, his faithless footstool shakes ! 
Beneath his tottering bulk it bends. 
It sways, it loosens, it descends, 



And when he issued from the wood 
Before the gate of Mortham stood. 
'Twas a fair scene ! the sunbeam lay 
On battled tower and portal gray ; 
And from the grassy slope he sees 
The Greta flow to meet the Tees 
Where, issuing from her darksome bed, 
She caught the morning's eastern red. 
And through the softening vale below 
Rolled her bright waves in rosy glow. 
All blushing to her bridal bed, 
Like some shy maid in convent bred, 




.-^^^ ■itifr "- ' 



And downward holds its headlong way. 
Crashing o'er rock and copsewood spray ! 
Loud thunders shake the echoing dell ! 
F"ell it alone ? — alone it fell. 
Just on the very verge of fate, 
The hardy Bertram's falling weight 
He trusted to his sinewy hands. 
And on the top unharmed, he stands ! 

XVI. 

Wilfrid a safer path pursued, 

At intervals where, roughly hewed, 

Rude steps ascending from the dell 

Rendered the cliffs accessible. 

By circuit slow he thus attained 

The height that Risinjrham had sained, 



While linnet, lark, and blackbird gay 
Sing forth her nuptial roundelay. 



'T was sweetly sung that roundelay, 
That summer morn shone blithe and gay ; 
But morning beam and wild-bird's call 
Awaked not Mortham's silent hall. 
No porter by the low-browed gate 
Took in the wonted niche his seat ; 
To the paved court no peasant drew; 
Waked to their toil no menial crew ; 
The maiden's carol was not heard. 
As to her morning task she fared : 
In the void offices around 
Rung not a hoof nor bayed a hound ; 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Nor eager steed with shrilling neigh 
Accused the lagging groom's delay ; 
Untrimmed, undressed, neglected now, 
Was allayed walk and orchard bough ; 
All spoke the master's absent care, 
All spoke neglect and disrepair. 
South of the gate an arrow flight. 
Two mighty elms their limbs unite, 
As if a canopy to spread 
O'er the lone dwelling of the dead ; 
For their huge boughs in arches bent 
Above a massive monument, 
Carved o'er in ancient Gothic wise 
With many a scutcheon and device : 
There, spent with toil and sunk in gloom, 
Bertram stood pondering by the tomb. 



' It vanished like a flitting ghost ! 
Behind this tomb,' he said, ' 't was lost — 
This tomb where oft I deemed lies stored 
Of Mortham's Indian wealth the hoard. 
'T is true, the aged servants said 
Here his lamented wife is laid ; 
But weightier reasons may be guessed 
For thei^ lord's strict and stern behest 
That none should on his steps intrude 
Whene'er he sought this solitude. 
An ancient mariner 1 knew, 
What time I sailed with Morgan's crew, 
Who oft mid our carousals spake 
Of Raleigh, Frobisher, and Drake: 
Adventurous hearts ! who bartered, bold, 
Their English steel for Spanish gold. 
Trust not, would his experience say, 
Captain or comrade with your prey. 
But seek some charnel, when, at full, 
The moon gilds skeleton and skull : 
There dig and tomb your precious heap. 
And bid the dead your treasure keep ; 
Sure stewards they, if fitting spell 
Their service to the task compel. 
Lacks there such charnel ? — kill a slave 
Or prisoner on the treasure -grave, 
And bid his discontented ghost 
Stalk nightly on his lonely post. 
Such was his tale. Its truth, I ween. 
Is in my morning vision seen.' 



Wilfrid, who scorned the legend wild, 
In mingled mirth and pity smiled. 
Much marvelling that a breast so bold 
In such fond tale belief should hold, 
But yet of Bertram sought to know 
The apparition's form and show. 
The power within the guilty breast, 
Oft vanquished, never quite suppressed, 
That unsubdued and lurking lies 
To take the felon by surprise 



And force him, as by magic spell. 

In his despite his guilt to tell — 

That power in Bertram's breast awoke : 

Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke ; 

' 'T was Mortham's form, from foot to 

head ! 
His morion with the plume of red. 
His shape, his mien — 't was Mortham, 

right 
As when I slew him in the fight.' — 
' Thou slay him ? — thou ? ' — Witli con- 
scious start 
He heard, then manned his haughty heart — 
' I slew him ? — I ! — I had forgot 
Thou, stripling, knew'st not of the plot. 
But it is spoken — nor will I 
Deed done or spoken word deny. 
I slew him ; I ! for thankless pride ; 
'T was by this hand that Mortham died." 



Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart. 

Averse to every active part 

But most adverse to martial broil. 

From danger shrunk and turned from toil : 

Yet the meek lover of the lyre 

Nursed one brave spark of noble fire ; 

Against injustice, fraud, or wrong 

His blood beat high, his hand w^axed strong. 

Not his the nerves that could sustain. 

Unshaken, danger, toil, and pain; 

But. when that spark blazed forth to flame. 

He rose superior to his frame. 

And now it came, that generous mood : 

And, in full current of his blood. 

On Bertram he laid desperate hand. 

Placed firm his foot, and drew his brand. 

' Should every fiend to whom thou"rt sold 

Rise in thine aid, I keep my hold. — 

Arouse there, ho ! take spear and sword ! 

Attach the murderer of your lord ! ' 



A moment, fixed as by a spell, 

Stood Bertram — it seemed miracle, 

That one so feeble, soft, and tame 

Set grasp on warlike Risingham. 

But when he felt a feeble stroke 

The fiend within the ruflian woke I 

To wrench the sword from Wilfrid's hand, 

To dash him headlong on the sand, 

Was but one moment's work, — one more 

Had drenched the blade in Wilfrid's gore. 

But in the instant it arose 

To end his life, his love, his woes, 

A warlike form that marked the scene 

Presents his rapier sheathed between, 

Parries the fast-descending blow. 

And steps 'twixt Wilfrid and his foe ; 



ROKEBY. 



289 







Nor then unscabbarded his brand, 
But, sternly pointing with his hand, 
With monarch's voice forbade the fight, 
And motioned Bertram from his sight. 
' Go, and repent,' he said, 'while time 
Is given thee ; add not crime to crime." 

XXII. 

Mute and uncertain and amazed. 
As on a vision Bertram sfazed ! 



'T was Mortham's bearing, bold and high, 

His sinewy frame, his falcon eye. 

His look and accent of command. 

The martial gesture of his hand. 

His stately form, spare-built and tall. 

His war-bleached locks — 't was Mortham 

all. 
Through Bertram's dizzy brain career 
A thousand thoughts, and all of fear ; 
His wavering faith received not quite 



19 



290 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The form he saw as Mortham's sprite, 

But more he feared it if it stood 

His lord in living flesh and blood. 

What spectre can the charnel send. 

So dreadful as an injured friend ? 

Then, too, the habit of command, 

Used by the leader of the band 

When Risingham for many a day 

Had marched and fought beneath his sway, 

Tamed him — and with reverted face 

Backwards he bore his sullen pace. 

Oft stopped, and oft on Mortham stared. 

And dark as rated mastiff glared. 

But when the tramp of steeds was heard 

Plunged in the glen and disappeared; 

Nor longer there the warrior stood. 

Retiring eastward through the wood, 

But first to Wilfrid warning gives, 

' Tell thou to none that Mortham lives.' 



Still rung these words in Wilfrid's ear, 
Hinting he knew not what of fear. 
When nearer came the coursers' tread. 
And, with his father at their head. 
Of horsemen armed a gallant power 
Reined up their steeds before the tower. 
' Whence these pale looks, my son ? ' he 

said : 
' Where 's Bertram ? Whv that naked 

blade .? ' 
Wilfrid ambiguously replied — 
For Mortham's charge his honor tied — 
' Bertram is gone — the villain's word 
Avouched him murderer of his lord ! 
Even now we fought — but when your tread 
Announced you nigh, the felon fled.' 
In Wycliffe's conscious eye appear 
A guilty hope, a guilty fear; 
On his pale brow the dewdrop broke, 
And his lip quivered as he spoke : 

XXIV. 

' A murderer ! — Philip Mortham died 
Amid the battle's wildest tide. 
Wilfrid, or Bertram raves or you ! 
Yet, grant such strange confession true. 
Pursuit were vain — let him fly far — 
Justice must sleep in civil war.' 
A gallant youth rode near his side. 
Brave Rokeby's page, in battle tried ; 
That morn an embassy of weight 
He brought to Barnard's castle gate, 
And followed now in Wycliffe's train 
An answer for his lord to gain. 
His steed, whose arched and sable neck 
An hundred wreaths of foam bedeck. 
Chafed not against the curb more high 
'J'han he at Oswald's cold reply ; 



He bit his lip, implored his saint — 
His the old faith — then burst restraint : 



• Yes ! I beheld his bloody fall 
By that base traitor's dastard ball, 
Just when I thought to measure sword. 
Presumptuous hope ! with Mortham's lord. 
And shall the murderer 'scape who slew 
His leader, generous, brave, and true ? 
Escape, while on the dew you trace 
The marks of his gigantic pace ? 
No ! ere the sun that dew shall dry, 
False Risingham shall yield or die. — 
Ring out the castle larum bell ! 
Arouse the peasants with the knell ! 
Meantime disperse — ride, gallants, ride ! 
Beset the wood on every side.' 
But if among you one there be 
That honors Mortham's memory. 
Let him dismount and follow me ! 
Else on your crests sit fear and shame, 
And foul suspicion dog your name ! ' 



Instant to earth young Redmond sprung ; 
Instant on earth the harness rung 
Of twenty men of Wycliffe's band. 
Who waited not their lord's command. 
Redmond his spurs from buskins drew, 
His mantle from his shoulders threw. 
His pistols in his belt he placed. 
The green-wood gained, the footsteps traced, 
Shouted like huntsman to his hounds, 
• To cover, hark ! ' — and in he bounds. 
.Scarce heard was Oswald's anxious cry, 
'Suspicion! yes — pursue him — fly — 
But venture not in useless strife 
On rufiian desperate of his life ; 
Whoever finds him shoot him dead ! 
Five hundred nobles for his head ! '' 



The horsemen galloped to make good 
Each path that issued from the wood. 
Loud from the thickets rung the shout 
Of Redmond and his eager rout ; 
With them was Wilfrid, stung with ire. 
And envying Redmond's martial fire. 
And emulous of fame. — But where 
Is Oswald, noble Mortham's heir.-* 
He, bound by honor, law, and faith. 
Avenger of his kinsman's death ? — 
Leaning against the elmin tree. 
With drooping head and slackened knee. 
And clenched teeth, and close-clasped 

hands. 
In agony of soul he stands ! 



ROKEBY. 



291 



His downcast eye on earth is bent, 
His soul to every sound is lent; 
For in each shout that cleaves the air 
May ring discovery and despair. 

XXVIII. 

What 'vailed it him that brightly played 
The morning sun on Mortham's glade ? 
All seems in giddy round to ride, 
Like objects on a stormy tide 
Seen eddying by the moonlight dim, 
Imperfectly to sink and swim. 
What 'vailed it that the fair domain, 
Its battled mansion, hill, and plain, 
On which the sun so brightly shone, 
Envied so long, was now his own ? 
The lowest dungeon, in that hour, 
Of Brackenbury's dismal tower. 
Had been his choice, could such a doom 
Have opened Mortham's bloody tomb ! 
Forced, too, to turn unwilling ear 
To each surmise of hope or fear. 
Murmured among the rustics round. 
Who gathered at the larum sound, 
He dare not turn his head away, 
Even to look up to heaven to pray. 
Or call on hell in bitter mood 
For one sharp death-shot from the wood ! 



At length o'erpast that dreadful space. 

Back straggling came the scattered chase 

Jaded and weary, horse and man. 

Returned the troopers one by one. 

Wilfrid the last arrived to say 

All trace was lost of Bertram's way. 

Though Redmond still up Brignall wood 

The hopeless quest in vain pursued. 

O, fatal doom of human race ! 

What tyrant passions passions chase ! 

Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone. 

Avarice and pride resume their throne ; 

The pang of instant terror by. 

They dictate thus their slave's reply : 



' Ay — let him range like hasty hound ! 
And if the grim wolf's lair be found. 
Small is my care how goes the game 
With Redmond or with Risingham. — 
Nay, answer not, thou simple boy ! 
Thy fair Matilda, all so coy 
To thee, is of another mood 
To that bold youth of Erin's blood. 
Thy ditties will she freely praise, 
And pay thy pains with courtly phrase ; 
In a rough path will oft command — 
Accept at least — thy friendly hand ; 
His she avoids, or, urged and prayed, 



Unwilling takes his proffered aid, 
While conscious passion plainly speaks 
In downcast look and blushing cheeks. 
Whene'er he sings will she glide nigh. 
And all her soul is in her eye ; 
Yet doubts she still to tender free 
The wonted words of courtesy. 
These are strong signs ! — yet wherefore 

sigh. 
And wipe, effeminate, thine eye ? 
Thine shall she be, if thou attend 
The counsels of thy sire and friend. 



' Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of light 

Brought genuine news of Marston's fight. 

Brave Cromwell turned the doubtful tide. 

And conquest blessed the rightful side ; 

Three thousand cavaliers lie dead, 

Rupert and that bold Marquis fled; 

Nobles and knights, so proud of late. 

Must fine for freedom and estate. 

Of these committed to my charge 

Is Rokeby, prisoner at large ; 

Redmond his page arrived to say 

He reaches Barnard's towers to-day. 

Right heavy shall his ransom be 

Unless that maid compound with thee ! 

Go to her now — be bold of cheer 

While her soul floats 'twixt hope and fear; 

It is the very change of tide, 

When best the female heart is tried — 

Pride, prejudice, and modesty. 

Are in the current swept to sea. 

And the bold swain who plies his oar 

May lightly row his bark to shore.' 



Uokebg. 

CANTO THIRD. 



The hunting tribes of air and earth 
Respect the brethren of their birth ; 
Nature, who loves the claim of kind. 
Less cruel chase to each assigned. 
The falcon, poised on soaring wing. 
Watches the wild-duck by the spring ; 
The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair; 
The greyhound presses on the hare ; 
The eagle pounces on the lamb ; 
The wolf devours the fleecy dam : 
Even tiger fell and sullen bear 
Their likeness and their lineage spare ; 
Man only mars kind Nature's plan. 



292 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And turns the fierce pursuit on man. 
Plying war's desultory trade, 
Incursion, flight, and ambuscade. 
Since Nimrod, Cush's mighty son. 
At first the bloody game begun. 



The Indian, prowling for his prey. 
Who hears the settlers track his way, 
And knows in distant forest far 
Camp his red brethren of the war • — 
He, when each double and disguise 
To bafile the pursuit he tries, 
Low crouching now his head to hide 
Where swampy streams through rushes 

glide. 
Now covering with the withered leaves 
The foot-prints that the dew receives — 
He, skilled in every sylvan .guile, 
Knows not, nor tries, such various wile 
As Risingham when on the wind 
Arose the loud pursuit behind. 
In Redesdale his youth had heard 
Each art her wily dalesman dared, 
When Rooken-edge and Redswair high 
To bugle rung and blood-hound's cry, 
Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear, 
And Lid'sdale riders in the rear ; 
And well his venturous life had proved 
The lessons that his childhood loved. 



Oft had he shown in climes afar 
Each attribute of roving war ; 
The sharpened ear, the piercing eye. 
The quick resolve in danger nigh ; 
The speed that in the flight or chase 
Outstripped the Charib's rapid race ; 
The steady brain, the sinewy limb, 
To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim ; 
The iron frame, inured to bear 
Each dire inclemency of air. 
Nor less confirmed to undergo 
Fatigue's faint chill and famine's throe. 
These arts he proved, his life to save. 
In peril oft by land and wave. 
On Arawaca's desert shore. 
Or where La Plata's billows roar. 
When oft the sons of vengeful Spain 
Tracked the marauder's steps in vain. 
These arts, in»Indian warfare tried. 
Must save him now by Greta's side. 

IV. 

'T was then, in hour of utmost need. 
He proved his courage, art, and speed. 
Now slow he stalked with stealthy pace, 
Now started forth in rapid race. 



Oft doubling back in mazy train 

To blind the trace the dews retain ; 

Now clomb the rocks projecting high 

To baffle the pursuer's eye ; 

Now sought the stream, whose brawling 

sound 
The echo of his footsteps drowned. 
But if the forest verge he nears. 
There trample steeds, and glimmer spears ; 
If deeper down the copse he drew. 
He heard the rangers' loud halloo. 
Beating each cover while they came. 
As if to start the sylvan game. 
'T was then — like tiger close beset 
At every pass with toil and net, 
'Countered where'er he turns his glare 
By clashing arms and torches' flare, 
Who meditates with furious bound 
To burst on hunter, horse and hound — 
'T was then that Bertram's soul arose, 
Prompting to rush upon his foes : 
But as that crouching tiger, cowed 
By brandished steel and shouting crowd, 
Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud, 
Bertram suspends his purpose stern, 
And crouches in the brake and fern, 
Hiding his face lest foemen spy 
The sparkle of his swarthy eye. 



Then Bertram might the bearing trace 
Of the bold youth who led the chase ; 
Who paused to list for every sound. 
Climbed every height to look around. 
Then rushing on with naked sword. 
Each dingle's bosky depths explored. 
'T was Redmond — by the azure eye ; 
'T was Redmond — by the locks that fly 
Disordered from his glowing cheek ; 
Mien, face, and form young Redmond 

speak. 
A form more active, light, and strong. 
Ne'er shot the ranks of war along ; 
The modest yet the manly mien 
Might grace the court of maiden queen ; 
A face more fair you well might find. 
For Redmond's knew the sun and wind. 
Nor boasted, from their tinge when free. 
The charm of regularity ; 
But every feature had the power 
To aid the expression of the hour : 
Whether gay wit and humor sly 
Danced laughing in his light-blue eye, 
Or bended brow and glance of fire 
And kindling cheek spoke Erin's ire. 
Or soft and saddened glances show 
Her ready sympathy with woe; 
Or in that wayward mood of mind 
WHien various feelings are combined, 
When joy and sorrow mingle near, 



ROKEBY. 



293 



And hope's bright wings are checked by fear, 
And rising doubts keep transport down, 
And anger lends a short-lived frown ; 
In that strange mood which maids approve 
Even when they dare not call it love — 
With every change his features played, 
As aspens show the light and shade. 



VI. 

Well Risingham young Redmond knew, 
And much he marvelled that the crew, 



But Redmond turned a different way, 
And the bent boughs resumed their sway, 
And Bertram held it wise, unseen, 
Deeper to plunge in coppice green. 
Thus, circled in his coil, the snake, 
When roving hunters beat the brake, 
Watches with red and glistening eye. 
Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh, 
With forked tongue and venomed fang 
Instant to dart the deadly pang ; 
But if the intruders turn aside, 
Away his coils unfolded glide. 




Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead 
Were by that Mortham's foeman led ; 
For never felt his soul the woe 
That wails a generous foeman low, 
Far less that sense of justice strong 
That wreaks a generous foeman's wrong. 
But small his leisure now to pause ; 
Redmond is first, whate'er the cause : 
And twice that Redmond came so near 
Wliere Bertram couched hke hunted deer, 
The very boughs his steps displace 
Rustled against the ruffian's face. 
Who desperate twice prepared to start. 
And plunge his dagger in his heart ! 



And through the deep savannah wind, 
Some undisturbed retreat to find. 



But Bertram, as he backward drew, 
And heard the loud pursuit renew, 
And Redmond's hollo on the wind. 
Oft muttered in his savage mind — 
' Redmond O'Neale ! were thou and I 
Alone this day's event to try, 
With not a second here to see 
But the gray cliff and oaken tree. 
That voice of thine that shouts so loud 



294 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Should ne'er repeat its summons proud ! 
No ! nor e'er try its melting power 
Again in maiden's summer bower.' 
Eluded, now behind him die 
Faint and more faint each hostile cry ; 
He stands in Scargill wood alone, 
Nor hears he now a harsher tone 
Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry, 
Or Greta's sound that murmurs by ; 
And on the dale, so lone and wild, 
The summer sun in quiet smiled. 



He listened long with anxious heart. 

Ear bent to hear and foot to start, 

And, while his stretched attention glows. 

Refused his weary frame repose. 

'T was silence all — he laid him down. 

Where purple heath profusely strown, 

And throatwort with its azure bell. 

And moss and thyme his cushion swell. 

There, spent with toil, he listless eyed 

The course of Greta's playful tide ; 

Beneath her banks now eddying dun, 

Now brightly gleaming to the sun. 

As, dancing over rock and stone. 

In yellow light her currents shone, 

Matching in hue the favorite gem 

Of Albinos mountain-diadem. 

Then, tired to watch the currents play. 

He turned his weary eyes away 

To where the bank opposing showed 

Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy 

wood. 
One, prominent above the rest, 
Reared to the sun its pale gray breast ; 
Around its broken summit grew 
The hazel rude and sable yew ; 
A thousand varied lichens dyed 
Its waste and weather-beaten side, 
And round its rugged basis lay, 
By time or thunder rent away. 
Fragments' that from its frontlet torn 
Were mantled now by verdant thorn. 
Such was the scene's wild majesty 
That filled stern Bertram's gazing eye. 



In sullen mood he lay reclined. 
Revolving in his stormy mind 
The felon deed, the fruitless guilt. 
His patron's blood by treason spilt ; 
A crime, it seemed, so dire and dread 
That it had power to wake the dead. 
Then, pondering on his life betrayed 
By Oswald's art to Redmond's blade. 
In treacherous purpose to withhold, 
So seemed it, Mortham's promised gold, 
A deep and full revenge he vowed 



On Redmond, forward, fierce, and proud ; 
Revenge on Wilfrid — on his sire 
Redoubled vengeance, swift and dire ! — 
If, in such mood — • as legends say. 
And well believed that simple day — 
The Enemy of Man has power 
To profit by the evil hour, 
Here stood a wretch prepared to change 
His soul's redemption for revenge ! 
But though his vows with such a fire 
Of earnest and intense desire 
For vengeance dark and fell were made 
As well might reach hell's lowest shade, 
No deeper clouds the grove embrowned, 
No nether thunders shook the ground ; 
The demon knew his vassal's heart. 
And spared temptation's needless art. 



Oft, mingled with the direful theme. 

Came Mortham's form — was it a dream .-* 

Or had he seen in vision true 

That very Mortham whom he slew? 

Or had in living flesh appeared 

The only man on earth he feared ? — 

To try the mystic cause intent. 

His eyes that on the cliff were bent 

'Countered at once a dazzling glance, 

Like sunbeam flashed from sword or lance. 

At once he started as for fight. 

But not a foeman was in sight ; 

He heard the cushat's murmur hoarse. 

He heard the river's sounding course ; 

The solitary woodlands lay, 

As slumbering in the summer ray. 

He gazed, like lion roused, around. 

Then sunk again upon the ground. 

'T was but, he thought, some fitful beam, 

Glanced sudden from the sparkling stream ; 

Then plunged him in his gloomy train 

Of ill-connected thoughts again, 

Until a voice behind him cried, 

' Bertram ! well met on Greta side.' 



Instant his sword was in his hand, 
As instant sunk the ready brand ; 
Yet, dubious still, opposed he stood 
To him that issued from the wood : 
' Guy Denzil ! — is it thou ? ' he said ; 
' Do we two meet in Scargill shade ! — 
Stand back a space ! — thy purpose show, 
Whether thou comest as friend or foe. 
Report hath said, that Denzil's name 
From Rokeby's band was razed with 

shame ' — 
' A shame f owe that hot O'Neale, 
Who told his knight in peevish zeal 



ROKEBY. 



295 




Of my marauding on the clowns 

Of Calverley and Bradford downs. 

I reck not. In a war to strive, 

Where save the leaders none can thrive, 

Suits ill my mood ; and better game 

Awaits us both, if thou 'rt the same 

Unscrupulous, bold Risingham 

Who watched with me in midnight dark 

To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park. 

How think'st thou ? ' — ' Speak thy purpose 

out ; 
I love not mystery or doubt.' — 

XII. 

'Then list. — Not far there lurk a crew 
Of trusty comrades stanch and true, 



Gleaned from both factions — Roundheads. 

freed 
From cant of sermon and of creed. 
And Cavaliers, whose souls like mine 
Spurn at the bonds of discipline. 
Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold 
A warfare of our own to hold 
Than breathe our last on battle-down 
For cloak or surplice, mace or crown. 
Our schemes are laid, our purpose set, 
A chief and leader lack we yet. 
Thou art a wanderer, it is said. 
For Mortham's death thy steps waylaid, 
Thy head at price — so say our spies, 
Who ranged the valley in disguise. 
Join then with us : though wild debate 



296 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And wrangling rend our infant state, 

Each, to an equal loath to bow, 

Will yield to chief renowned as thou.' — 



' Even now,' thought Bertram, passion- 
stirred, 
'"I called on hell, and hell has heard! 
What lack I, vengeance to command, 
But of stanch comrades such a band ? 
This Denzil, vowed to every evil. 
Might read a lesson to the devil. 
Weil, be it so ! each knave and fool 
Shall serve as my revenge's tool.' — 
Aloud, ' I take thy proffer, Guy, 
But tell me where thy comrades lie.' 
' Not far from hence,' Guy Denzil said ; 
' Descend and cross the river's bed 
Where rises yonder cliff so gray.' 
' Do thou,' said Bertram, ' lead the way.' 
Then muttered, ' It is best make sure ; 
Guy Denzil's faith was never pure.' 
He followed down the steep descent. 
Then through the Greta's streams they 

went ; 
And when they reached the farther shore 
They stood the lonely cliff before. 



With wonder Bertram heard within 

The flinty rock a murmured din ; 

But when Guy pulled the wilding spray 

And brambles from its base away, 

He saw appearing to the air 

A little entrance low and square. 

Like opening cell of hermit lone. 

Dark winding through the living stone. 

Here entered Denzil, Bertram here ; 

And loud and louder on their ear. 

As from the bowels of the earth. 

Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth. 

Of old the cavern strait and rude 

In slaty rock the peasant hewed ; 

And Brignall's woods and Scargill's wave 

E'en now o'er many a sister cave. 

Where, far within the darksome rift, 

The wedge and lever ply their thrift. 

But war had silenced rural trade, 

And the deserted mine was made 

The banquet-hall and fortress too 

Of Denzil and his desperate crew. 

There Guilt his anxious revel kept 

There on his sordid pallet slept 

Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drained 

Still in his slumbering grasp retained ; 

Regret was there, his eye still cast 

With vain repining on the past ; 

Among the feasters waited near 

Sorrow and imrepentant Fear, 



And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven, 
With his own crimes reproaching Heaven : 
While Bertram showed amid the crew 
The Master-Fiend that Milton drew. 



Hark ! the loud revel wakes again 

To greet the leader of the train. 

Behold the group by the pale lamp 

That struggles with the earthy damp. 

By what strange features Vice hath known 

To single out and mark her own ! 

Yet some there are whose brows retain 

Less deeply stamped her brand and stain. 

See yon pale stripling ! when a boy, 

A mother's pride, a father's joy ! 

Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclined, 

An early image fills his mind : 

The cottage once his sire's he sees. 

Embowered upon the banks of Tees ; 

He views sweet Winston's woodland scene. 

And shares the dance on Gainford-green. 

A tear is springing — but the zest 

Of some wild tale or brutal jest 

Hath to loud laughter stirred the rest. 

On him they call, the aptest mate 

For jovial song and merry feat : 

Fast flies his dream — with dauntless air, 

As one victorious o'er despair. 

He bids the ruddy cup go round 

Till sense and sorrow both are drowned ; 

And soon in merry wassail he, 

The life of all their revelry. 

Peals his loud song ! — The muse has found 

Her blossoms on the wildest ground, 

Mid noxious weeds at random strewed, 

Themselves all profitless and rude. — 

With desperate merriment he sung. 

The cavern to the chorus rung. 

Yet mingled with his reckless glee 

Remorse's bitter agony. 



Sona. 

O, Brignall banks are wild and fair. 

And Greta woods are green, 
And you may gather garlands there 

Wovild grace a summer queen. 
And as 1 rode by Dalton-hall, 

Beneath the turrets high, 
A maiden on the castle wall 

Was singing merrily, — 

CHORUS. 

' O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair. 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I 'd rather rove with Edmund there 
Than reign our English queen.' 



ROKEBY. 



297 



' If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, 

To leave both tower and town, 
Thou first must guess what life lead we 

That dwell by dale and down ? 
And if thou canst that riddle read, 

As read full well you may. 
Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed, 

As blithe as Queen of May.' 

CHORUS. 

Yet sung she, ' Brignall banks are fair. 
And Greta woods are green ; 

I 'd rather rove with Edmund there 
Than reign our English queen. 



' I read you, by your bugle horn. 

And by your palfrey good, 
I read you for a ranger sworn 

To keep the king's greenwood.' 
• A ranger, lady, winds his horn, 

And 't is at peep of light ; 
His blast is heard at merry morn, 

And mine at dead of night.' 

CHORUS. 

Yet sung she, ' Brignall banks are fair. 

And Greta woods are gay ; 
I would 1 were with Edmund there, 

To reign his Queen of May ! 

' With burnished brand and musketoon 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold dragoon. 

That lists the tuck of drum.' 
' I list no more the tuck of drum. 

No more the trumpet hear; 
But when the beetle sounds his hum, 

My comrades take the spear. 

CHORUS. 

'And O, though Brignall banks be fair, 

And Greta woods be gay. 
Yet mickle must the maiden dare 

Would reign my Queen of May ! 

XVIII. 

'Maiden I a nameless life I lead, 

A nameless death I '11 die ; 
The fiend whose lantern lights the mead 

Were better mate than I !. 
And when I 'm with my comrades met 

Beneath the greenwood bough. 
What once we were we all forget. 

Nor think what we are now. 

CHORUS. 

' Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 
And Greta woods are green. 

And you may gather garlands there 
Would grace a summer queen.' 



When Edmund ceased his simple song. 
Was silence on the sullen throng. 
Till waked some ruder mate their glee 
With note of coarser minstrelsy. 
But far apart in dark divan, 
Denzil and Bertram many a plan 
Of import foul and fierce designed. 
While still on Bertram's grasping mind 
The wealth of murdered Mortham hung ; 
Though half he feared his daring tongue. 
When it should give his wishes birth, 
Might raise a spectre from the earth ! 



At length his wondrous tale he told ; 

When scornful smiled his comrade bold. 

For, trained in license of a court. 

Religion's self was Denzil's sport; 

Then judge in what contempt he held 

The visionary tales of eld ! 

His awe for Bertram scarce repressed 

The unbeliever's sneering jest, 

''T were hard,' he said, 'for sage or seer 

To spell the subject of your fear; 

Nor do I boast the art renowned 

Vision and omen to expound. 

Yet, faith if 1 must needs afford 

To spectre watching treasured hoard. 

As ban-dog keeps his master's roof, 

Bidding the plunderer stand aloof. 

This doubt remains — thy goblin gaunt 

Hath chosen ill his ghostly haunt ; 

For why his guard on Mortham hold. 

When Rokeby castle hath the gold 

Thy patron won on Indian soil 

By stealth, by piracy, and spoil .? ' — 



At this he paused — for angry shame 

Lowered on the brow of Risingham. 

He blushed to think, that he should seem 

Assertor of an airy dream. 

And gave his wrath another theme. 

' Denzil,' he says, ' though lowly laid. 

Wrong not the memory of the dead; 

For while he lived at Mortham's look 

Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook ! 

And when he taxed thy breach of word 

To yon fair rose of Allenford, 

I saw thee crouch like chastened hound 

Whose back the huntsman's lash hath found. 

Nor dare to call his foreign wealth 

The spoil of piracy or stealth; 

He won it bravely with his brand 

When Spain waged warfare with our land. 

Mark, too — I brook no idle jeer. 

Nor couple Bertram's name with fear ; 

Mine is but half the demon's lot, 

For I believe, but tremble not. 



298 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Enough of this. Say, why this hoard 
Thou deem'st at Rokeby castle stored ; 
Or think'st that Mortham would bestow 
His treasure with his faction's foe ? ' 



Soon quenched was Denzil's ill-timed mirth ; 

Rather he would have seen the earth 

Give to ten thousand spectres birth 

Than venture to awake to flame 

The deadly wrath of Risingham. 

Submiss he answered, ' Mortham's mind, 

Thou know'st, to joy was ill inclined. 

In youth, 't is said, a gallant free, 

A lusty reveller was he ; 

But since returned from over sea, 

A sullen and a silent mood 

Hath numbed the current of his blood. 

Hence he refused each kindly call 

To Rokeby's hospitable hall. 

And our stout knight, at dawn or morn 

Who loved to hear the bugle-horn. 

Nor less, when eve his oaks embrowned, 

To see the ruddy cup go round, 

Took umbrage that a friend so near 

Refused to share his chase and cheer; 

Thus did the kindred barons jar 

Ere they divided in the war. 

Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair 

Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir." 



' Destined to her ! to yon slight maid ! 
The prize my life had wellnigh paid 
When 'gainst Laroche by Cayo's wave 
I fought my patron's wealth to save ! — 
Denzil, I knew him long, yet ne'er 
Knew him that joyous cavalier 
Whom youthful friends and early fame 
Called soul of gallantry and game. 
A moody man he sought our crew, 
Desperate and dark, whom no one knew, 
And rose, as men with us must rise, 
By scorning life and all its ties. 
On each adventure rash he roved, 
As danger for itself he loved ; 
On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine 
Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine ; 
111 was the omen if he smiled. 
For 'twas in peril stern and wild ; 
But when he laughed each luckless mate 
Might hold our fortune desperate. 
Foremost he fought in every broil. 
Then scornful turned him from the spoil. 
Nay, often strove to bar the way 
Between his comrades and their prey ; 
Preaching even then to such as we. 
Hot with our dear-bought victory. 
Of mercy and humanity. 



' I loved him well — his fearless part. 

His gallant leading, won my heart. 

And after each victorious fight, 

'T was I that wrangled for his right, 

Redeemed his portion of the prey 

That greedier mates had torn away, 

In field and storm thrice saved his life. 

And once amid our comrades' strife. — 

Yes, I have loved thee ! Well hath proved 

My toil, my danger, how I loved ! 

Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, 

Ingrate in life, in death ingrate. 

Rise if thou canst ! ' he looked around 

And sternly stamped upon the ground — 

' Rise, with thy bearing proud and high, 

Even as this morn it met mine eye. 

And give me, if thou darest, the lie ! ' 

He paused — then, calm and passion-freed. 

Bade Denzil with his tale proceed. 



' Bertram, to thee I need not tell, 
What thou hast cause to wot so well, 
How superstition's nets were twined 
Around the Lord of Mortham's mind; 
But since he drove thee from his tower, 
A maid he found in Greta's bower 
Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway 
To charm his evil fiend away. 
I know not if her features moved 
Remembrance of the wife he loved, 
But he would gaze upon her eye, 
Till his mood softened to a sigh. 
He, whom no living mortal sought 
To question of his secret thought. 
Now every thought and care confessed 
To his fair niece's faithful breast; 
Nor was there aught of rich and rare. 
In earth, in ocean, or in air, 
But it must deck Matilda's hair. 
Her love still bound him unto life; 
But then awoke the civil strife. 
And menials bore by his commands 
Three coffers with their iron bands 
From Mortham's vault at midnight deep 
To her lone bower in Rokeby-Keep, 
Ponderous with gold and plate of pride, 
His gift, if he in battle died." 



' Then Denzil, as I guess, lays train 
These iron-banded chests to gain. 
Else wherefore should he hover here 
Where many a peril waits him near 
For all his feats of war and peace, 
For plundered boors, and harts of greese? 
Since through the hamlets as he fared 
What hearth has Guy's marauding spared, 



ROKEBY. 



299 




Or where the chase that hath not rung 
With Denzil's bow at midnight strung? ' 
' I hold my wont — my rangers go, 
Even now to track a milk-white doe. 
By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair, 
In Greta wood she harbors fair, 
And when my huntsman marks her way, 
What think'st thou, Bertram, of the prey ? 
Were Rokeby's daughter in our power. 
We rate her ransom at her dower.' 



XXVI. 

' 'T is well! — there's vengeance in the 

thought, 
Matilda is by Wilfrid sought ; 
And hot-brained Redmond too, 't is said, 
Pays lover's homage to the maid. 
Bertram she scorned — if met by chance 
She turned from me her shuddering glance, 
Like a nice dame that will not brook 
On what she hates and loathes to look : 



300 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



She told to Mortham she could ne'er 
Behold me without secret fear, 
Foreboding evil : — she may rue 
To find her prophecy fall true ! — 
The war has weeded Rokeby's train, 
Few followers in his halls remain ; 
If thy scheme miss, then, brief and bold. 
We are enow to storm the hold. 
Bear off the plunder and the dame, 
And leave the castle all in flame.' 



' Still art thou Valor's venturous son ! 

Yet ponder first the risk to run : 

The menials of the castle, true 

And stubborn to their charge, though few — 

The wall to scale — the moat to cross — 

The wicket-grate — the inner fosse ' — 

' Fool ! if we blench for toys like these, 

On what fair guerdon can we seize? 

Ovu- hardiest venture, to explore 

Some wretched peasant's fenceless door, 

And the best prize we bear away. 

The earnings of his sordid day.' 

' A while thy hasty taunt forbear : 

In sight of road more sure and fair 

Thou wouldst not choose, in blindfold 

wrath 
Or wantonness a desperate path ? 
List, then ; — for vantage or assault. 
From gilded vane to dungeon vault, 
Each pass of Rokeby-house 1 know : 
There is on£ postern dark and low 
That issues at a secret spot, 
By most neglected or forgot. 
Now, could a spial of our train 
On fair pretext admittance gain, 
That sally-port might be unbarred ; 
Then, vain were battlement and ward ! 

XXVIII. 

' Now speak'st thou well : to me the same 
If force or art shall urge the game ; 
Indifferent if like fox I wind. 
Or spring like tiger on the hind. — 
But, hark ! our merry men so gay 
Troll forth another roundelay.' 

Song. 

' A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 

A weary lot is thine ! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 

And press the rue for wine ! 
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green, — 

No more of me you knew, 

My love ! 
No more of me you knew. 



' This morn is merry June, I trow. 

The rose is budding fain ; 
But she shall bloom in winter snow 

Ere we two meet again.' 
He turned his charger as he spake 

Upon the river shore, 
He gave his bridle-reins a shake. 

Said, ' Adieu for evermore, 

My love ! 
And adieu for evermore.' 



' What youth is this your band among 
The best for minstrelsy and song .'' 
In his wild notes seem aptly met 
A strain of pleasure and regret.' — 
' Edmund of Winston is his name ; 
The hamjet sounded with the fame 
Of early hopes his childhood gave, — 
Now centred all in Brignall cave ! 
I watch him well — his wayward course 
Shows oft a tincture of remorse. 
Some early love-shaft grazed his heart, 
And oft the scar will ache and smart. 
Yet is he useful ; — of the rest 
By fits the darling and the jest. 
His harp, his story, and his lay. 
Oft aid the idle hours away : 
When unemployed, each fiery mate 
Is ripe for mutinous debate. 
He tuned his strings e'en now — again 
He wakes them with a blither strain.' 



Song. 

ALLEN-A-DALE. 

Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for tlie spinning, 
Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the 

winning. 
Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken 

my tale ! 
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. 

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride, 

And he views his domains upon Arkindalc 
side. 

The mere for his net and the land for his 
game. 

The chase for the wild and the park for the 
tame ; 

Yet the fish of the lake and the deer of the 
vale 

Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a- 
Dale ! 



ROKEBY. 



\o\ 



AlIen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, 
Though his spur be as sharp and his blade 

be as bright ; 
Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord, 
Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his 

word ; 
And the best of our nobles his bonnet will 

vail, 
Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets 

Allen-a-Dale ! 

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; 

The mother, she asked of his household 
and home : 

' Though the castle of Richmond stand fair 
on the hill, 

My hall,' cjuoth bold Allen, 'shows gallanter 
still; 

'T is the blue vault of heaven, with its cres- 
cent so pale 

And with all its bright spangles I ' said 
Allen-a-Dale. 

The father was steel and the mother was 
stone ; 

They lifted the latch and they bade him be 
gone ; 

But loud on the morrow their wail and their 
cry : 

He had laughed on the lass with his bonny 
black eye. 

And she fled to the forest to hear a love- 
tale. 

And the youth it was told by was Allen-a- 
dale! 



' Thou see'st that, whether sad or gay, 

Love mingles ever in his lay. 

But when his boyish wayward fit 

Is o'er, he hath address and wit ; 

O, 't is a brain of fire, can ape 

Each dialect, each various shape ! ' — 

' Nay, then, to aid thy project, Guy — 

Soft ! who comes here ? ' — ' My trusty spy. 

Speak, Hamlin ! hast thou lodged our 

deer ? ' — 
' I have — • but two fair stags are near. 
1 watched her as she slowly strayed 
From Egliston up Thorsgill glade. 
But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her side. 
And then young Redmond in his pride 
Shot down to meet them on their way ; 
Much, as it seemed, was theirs to say : 
There 's time to pitch both toil and net 
Before their path be homeward set.' 
A hurried and a whispered speech 
Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach. 
Who, turning to the robber band, 
Bade four, the bravest, take the brand. 



Eokcbg. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



When Denmark's raven soared on high. 
Triumphant through Northumbrian sky, 
Till hovering near her fatal croak 
Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke. 
And the broad shadow of her wing 
Blackened each cataract and spring 
Where Tees in tumult leaves his source, 
Thundering o'er Caldron and High-Force ; 
Beneath the shade the Northmen came, 
Fixed on each vale a Runic name. 
Reared high their altar's rugged stone, 
And gave their gods the land they won. 
Then, Balder, one bleak garth was thine 
And one sweet brooklet's silver line, 
And W^oden's Croft did title gain 
From the stern Father of the Slain; 
But to the Monarch of the Mace, 
That held in fight the foremost place, 
To Odin's son and Sifia's spouse. 
Near Startforth high they paid their vows, 
Remembered Thor's victorious fame, 
And gave the dell the Thunderer's name. 



Yet Scald or Kemper erred, I ween, 
Who gave that soft and cjuiet scene, 
With all its varied light and shade. 
And every little sunny glade, 
And the blithe brook that strolls along 
Its pebbled bed with summer song, 
To the grim God of blood and scar, 
The grisly King of Northern War. 
O, better were its banks assigned 
To spirits of a gentler kind ! 
For where the thicket-groups recede 
And the rath primrose decks the mead, 
The velvet grass seems carpet meet 
For the light fairies' lively feet. 
Yon tufted knoll with daisies strown 
Might make proud Oberon a throne, 
While, hidden in the thicket nigh. 
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly; 
And where profuse the wood-vetch clings 
Round ash and elm in verdant rings, 
Its pale and azure-pencilled flower 
Should canopy Titania's bower. 



Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade ; 
But, skirting every sunny glade, 
In fair variety of green 
The woodland lends its sylvan screen. 
Hoary yet haughty, frowns the oak, 
Its boughs by weight of ages broke ; 



302 



SCOl^T'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And towers erect in sable spire 
The pine-tree scathed by lightning-fire ; 
The drooping ash and birch between 
Hang their fair tresses o'er the green, 
And all beneath at random grow 
Each coppice dwarf of varied show, 
Or, round the stems profusely twined, 
Fling summer odors on the wind. 
Such varied group Urbino's hand 
Round Him of Tarsus nobly planned, 
What time he bade proud Athens own 
On Mars's Mount the God Unknown ! 
Then gray Philosophy stood nigh. 
Though bent by age, in spirit high : 
There rose the scar-seamed veteran's spear, 
There Grecian Beauty bent to hear. 
While Childhood at her foot was placed, 
Or clung delighted to her waist. 



' And rest we here,' Matilda said. 
And sat her in the varying shade. 
' Chance-met, we well may steal an hour, 
To friendship due from fortune's power. 
Thou, Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend 
Thy counsel to thy sister-friend ; 
And, Redmond, thou, at my behest, 
No farther urge thy desperate quest. 
For to my care a charge is left, 
Dangerous to one of aid bereft, 
Wellnigh an orphan and alone. 
Captive her sire, her house o'erthrown.' 
Wilfrid, with wonted kindness graced, 
Beside her on the turf she placed; 
Then paused with downcast look and eye, 
Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigh. 
Her conscious diffidence he saw, 
Drew backward as in modest awe. 
And sat a little space removed. 
Unmarked to gaze on her he loved. 



Wreathed in its dark-brown rings, her hair 
Half hid Matilda's forehead fair. 
Half hid and half revealed to view 
Her full dark eye of hazel hue. 
The rose with faint and feeble streak 
So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek 
That you had said her hue was pale ; 
But if she faced the summer gale, 
Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved. 
Or heard the praise of those she loved. 
Or when of interest was expressed 
Aught that waked feeling in her breast. 
The mantling blood in ready play 
Rivalled the blush of rising day. 
There was a soft and pensive grace, 
A cast of thought upon her face, 
That suited well the forehead high, 
The eyelash dark and downcast eye ; 



The mild expression spoke a mind 

In duty firm, composed, resigned ; — 

'T is that which Roman art has given, 

To mark their maiden Queen of Heaven. 

In hours of sport that mood gave way 

To Fancy's light and frolic play ; 

And when the dance, or tale, or song 

In harmless mirth sped time along, 

Full oft her doting sire would call 

His Maud the merriest of them all. 

But days of war and civil crime 

Allowed but ill such festal time. 

And her soft pensiveness of brow 

Had deepened into sadness now. 

In Marston field her father ta'en. 

Her friends dispersed, brave Mortham 

slain. 
While every ill her soul foretold 
From Oswald's thirst of power and gold, 
And boding thoughts that she must part 
With a soft vision of her heart, — 
All lowered around the lovely maid, 
To darken her dejection's shade. 



Who has not heard — while Erin yet 

Strove 'gainst the Saxon's iron bit — 

Who has not heard how brave O'Neale 

In English blood imbrued his steel. 

Against Saint George's cross blazed high 

The banners of his Tanistry, 

To fiery Essex gave the foil, 

And reigned a prince on Ulster's soil ? 

But chief arose his victor pride 

When that brave Marshal fought and died, 

And Avon-Duff to ocean bore 

His billows red with Saxon gore. 

'T was first in that disastrous fight 

Rokeby and Mortham proved their might. 

There had they fallen amongst the rest, 

But pity touched a chieftain's breast; 

The Tanist he to great O'Neale, 

He checked his followers' bloody zeal, 

To quarter took the kinsmen bold, 

And bore them to his mountain-hold, 

Gave them each sylvan joy to know 

Slieve-Donard's cliffs and woods could 

show. 
Shared with them Erin's festal cheer. 
Showed them the chase of wolf and deer. 
And, when a fitting time was come. 
Safe and unransomed sent them home. 
Loaded with many a gift to prove 
A generous foe's respect and love. 



Years speed away. On Rokeby's head 
Some touch of early snow was shed ; 
Calm he enjoyed by Greta's wave 
The peace which James the Peaceful gave, 



ROKEBY. 



303 




While Mortham far beyond the main 
Waged his fierce wars on Indian Spain. — 
It chanced upon a wintry night 
That whitened Stanmore's stormy height, 
The chase was o'er, the stag was killed, 
In Rokeby hall the cups were filled, 
And by the huge stone chimney sate 
The knight in hospitable state. 
Moonless the sky, the hour was late, 
When a loud summons shook the gate, 
And sore for entrance and for aid 
A voice of foreign accent prayed. 
The porter answered to the call. 
And instant rushed into the hall 
A man whose aspect and attire 
Startled the circle by the fire. 

VIII. 

His plaited hair in elf-locks spread 

Around his bare and matted head ; 

On leg and thigh, close stretched and trim, 

His vesture showed the sinewy limb; 

In saffron dyed, a linen vest 

Was frequent folded round his breast ; 

A mantle long and loose he wore, 

Shaggy with ice and stained with gore. 

He clasped a burden to his heart, 

And, resting on a knotted dart, 



Thes now from hair and beard he shook. 
And round him gazed with wildered look. 
Then up the hall with staggering pace 
He hastened by the blaze to place, 
Half lifeless from the bitter air. 
His load, a boy of beauty rare. 
To Rokeby next he louted low. 
Then stood erect his tale to show 
With wild majestic port and tone, 
Like envoy of some barbarous throne. 
' Sir Richard, Lord of Rokeby, hear! 
Turlough O'Neale salutes thee dear; 
He graces thee, and to thy care 
Young Redmond gives, his grandson fair. 
He bids thee breed him as thy son. 
For Turlough's days of joy are done, 
And other lords have seized his land. 
And faint and feeble is his hand. 
And all the glory of Tyrone 
Is like a morning vapor flown. 
To bind the duty on thy soul. 
He bids thee think on JErin's bowl ! 
If any wrong the young O'Neale, 
He bids thee think of Erin's steel. 
To Mortham first this charge was due, 
But in his absence honors you. — 
Now is my master's message by, 
And Ferraught will contented die.' 



304 



scorrs poetical works. 



His look grew fixed, his cheek grew pale. 
He sunk when he had told his tale : 
For, hid beneath his mantle wide, 
A mortal wound was in his side. 
Vain was all aid — in terror wild 
And sorrow screamed the orphan child. 
Poor Ferraught raised his wistful eyes. 
And faintly strove to soothe his cries ; 
All reckless of his dying pain, 
He blest and blest him o'er again. 
And kissed the little hands outspread. 
And kissed and crossed the infant head, 
And in his native tongue and phrase 
Prayed to each saint to watch his days ; 
Then all his strength together drew 
The charge to Rokeby to renew. 
When half was faltered from his breast. 
And half by dying signs expressed, 
' Bless thee, O'Neale ! ' he faintly said, 
And thus the faithful spirit fled. 



'T was long ere soothing might prevail 
Upon the child to end the tale : 
And then he said that from his home 
His grandsire had been forced to roam, 
Which had not been if Redmond's hand 
Had but had strength to draw the brand. 
The brand of Lenaugh More the Red, 
That hung beside the gray wolf's head. — 
'T was fi"om his broken phrase descried, 
His foster father was his guide. 
Who in his charge from Ulster bore 
Letters and gifts a goodly store ; 
But ruffians met them in the wood, 
Ferraught in battle boldly stood. 
Till wounded and o'erpowered at length. 
And stripped of all, his failing strength 
Just bore him here — and then the child 
Renewed again his moaning: wild. 



The tear down childhood's cheek that 

flows 
Is like the dewdrop on the rose ; 
When next the summer breeze comes by 
And waves the bush, the flower is dry. 
Won by their care, the orphan child 
Soon on his new protector smiled. 
With dimpled cheek and eye so fair. 
Through his thick curls of flaxen hair. 
But blithest laughed that cheek and eye. 
When Rokeby's little maid was nigh : 
'T was his with elder brother's pride 
Matilda's tottering steps to guide ; 
His native lays in Irish tongue 
To soothe her infant ear he sung. 
And primrose twined with daisy fair 



To form a chaplet for her hair. 
By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand, 
The children still were hand in hand, 
And good Sir Richard smiling eyed 
The early knot so kindly tied. 



But summer months bring wilding shoot 

From bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit: 

And years draw on our human span 

From child to boy, from boy to man ; 

And soon in Rokeby's woods is seen 

A gallant boy in hunter's green. 

He loves to wake the felon boar 

In his dark haunt on Greta's shore, 

And loves against the deer so dun 

To draw the shaft, or lift the gun : 

Yet more he loves in autumn prime 

The hazel's spreading boughs to climb, 

And down its clustered stores to hail 

Where young Matilda holds her veil. 

And she whose veil receives the shower 

Is altered too and knows her power. 

Assumes a monitress's pride 

Her Redmond's dangerous sports to chide, 

Yet listens still to hear him tell 

How the grim wild-boar fought and fell. 

How at his fall the bugle rung, 

Till rock and greenwood answer flung ; 

Then blesses her that man can find 

A pastime of such savage kind ! 



But Redmond knew to weave his tale 

So well with praise of wood and dale. 

And knew so well each point to trace 

Gives living interest to the chase. 

And knew so well o'er all to throw 

His spirit's wild romantic glow. 

That, while she blamed and while she 

feared. 
She loved each venturous tale she heard. 
Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain 
To bower and hall their steps restrain, 
Together they explored the page 
Of glowing bard or gifted sage ; 
Oft, placed the evening fire beside, 
The minstrel art alternate tried. 
While gladsome harp and lively lay 
Bade winter-night flit fast away : 
Thus, from their childhood blending still 
Their sport, their study, and their skill. 
An union of the soul they prove. 
But must not think that it was love. 
But though they dared not, envious Fame 
Soon dared to give that union name ; 
And when so often side by side 
From year to year the pair she eyed. 
She sometimes blamed the good old knight 
As dull of ear and dim of sight. 



ROKEBY. 



305 



Sometimes his purpose would declare 
That young O'Neale should wed his heir. 



The suit of Wilfrid rent disguise 

And bandage from the lovers' eyes ; 

'T was plain that Oswald for his son 

Had Rokeby's favor wellnigh won. 

Now must they meet with change of cheer, 

With mutual looks of shame and fear ; 



And count the heroes of his line, 

Great Nial of the Pledges Nine, 

Shane-Dymas wild, and Geraldine, 

And Connan-more, who vowed his race 

For ever to the fight and chase, 

And cursed him of his lineage born 

Should sheathe the sword to reap the corn, 

Or leave the mountain and the wold 

To shroud himself in castled hold. 

From such examples hope he drew, ° 

And brightened as the trumpet blew. 




Now must Matilda stray apart 
To school her disobedient heart, 
And Redmond now alone must rue 
The love he never can subdue. 
But factions rose, and Rokeby sware 
No rebel's son should wed his heir; 
And Redmond, nurtured while a child 
In many a bard's traditions wild. 
Now sought the lonely wood or stream, 
To cherish there a happier dream 
Of maiden won by sword or lance, 
As in the regions of romance ; 



If brides were won by heart and blade, 
Redmond had both his cause to aid. 
And all beside of nurture rare 
That might beseem a baron's heir. 
Turlough O'Neale in Erin's strife 
On Rokeby's Lord bestowed his life. 
And well did Rokeby's generous knight 
Young Redmond for the deed requite. 
Nor was his liberal care and cost 
Upon the gallant stripling lost : 



;o6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORK'S. 



Seek the North Riding broad and wide, 
Like Redmond none could steed bestride 
From Tynemouth search to Cumberland, 
Like Redmond none could wield a brand ; 
And then, of humor kind and free, 
And bearing him to each degree 
With frank and fearless courtesy, 
There never youth was formed to steal 
Upon the heart like brave O'Neale. 



Sir Richard loved him as his son ; 
And when the days of peace were done. 
And to the gales of war he gave 
The banner of his sires to wave, 
Redmond, distinguished by his care, 
He chose that honored flag to bear, 
And named his page, the next degree 
In that old time to chivalry. 
In five pitched fields he well maintained 
The honored place his worth obtained. 
And high was Redmond's youthful name 
Blazed in the roll of martial fame. 
Had fortune smiled on Marston fight. 
The eve had seen him dubbed a knight ; 
Twice mid the battle's doubtful strife 
Of Rokeby's Lord he saved the life. 
But when he saw him prisoner made. 
He kissed and then resigned his blade, 
And yielded him an easy prey 
To those who led the knight away, 
Resolved Matilda's sire should prove 
In prison, as in fight, his love. 

XVII. 

When lovers meet in adverse hour, 
'T is like a sun-glimpse through a shower, 
A watery ray an instant seen 
The darkly closing clouds between. 
As Redmond on the turf reclined. 
The past and present filled his mind : 
' It was not thus,' Affection said, 
' I dreamed of my return, dear maid ! 
Not thus when from thy trembling hand 
I took the banner and the brand. 
When round me, as the bugles blew, 
Their blades three hundred warriors drew, 
And, while the standard I unrolled, 
Clashed their bright arms, with clamor bold. 
Where is that banner now .'' — its pride 
Lies whelmed in Ouse's sullen tide ! 
Where now these warriors ? — in their gore 
They cumber Marston's dismal moor ! 
And what avails a useless brand, 
Held by a captive's sJiackled hand, 
That only would his life retain 
To aid thy sire to bear his chain ! ' 
Thus Redmond to himself apart, 
Nor lighter was his rival's heart: 



For Wilfrid, while his generous soul 
Disdained to profit by control. 
By many a sign could mark too plain, 
Save with such aid, his hopes were vain. 
But now Matilda's accents stole 
On the dark visions of their soul. 
And bade their mournful musing fly. 
Like mist before the zephyr's sigh. 



' I need not to my friends recall, 

How Mortham shunned my father's hall, 

A man of silence and of woe. 

Yet ever anxious to bestow 

On my poor self whate'er could prove 

A kinsman's confidence and love. 

My feeble aid could sometimes chase 

The clouds of sorrow for a space ; 

But oftener. fixed beyond my power, 

I marked his deep despondence lower. 

One dismal cause, by all unguessed. 

His fearful confidence confessed ; 

And twice it was my hap to see 

Examples of that agony 

Which for a season can o'erstrain 

And wreck the structure of the brain. 

He had the awful power to know 

The approaching mental overthrow, 

And while his mind had courage yet 

To struggle with the dreadful fit. 

The victim writhed against its throes, 

Like wretch beneath a murderer's blows. 

This malady, I well could mark. 

Sprung from some direful cause and dark, 

But still he kept its source concealed. 

Till arming for the civil field ; 

Then in my charge he bade me hold 

A treasure huge of gems and gold. 

With this disjointed dismal scroll 

That tells the secret of his soul 

In such wild words as oft betray 

A mind by anguish forced astray.' 



JEortljam's Ifclistorg. 

' Matilda ! thou hast seen me start. 
As if a dagger thrilled my heart. 
When it has happed some casual phrase 
Waked memory of my former days. 
Believe that few can backward cast 
Their thought with pleasure on the past ; 
But I ! — my youth was rash and vain, 
And blood and rage my manhood stain. 
And my gray hairs must now descend 
To my cold grave without a friend ! 
Even thou, Matilda, wilt disown 
Thy kinsman when his guilt is known. 
And must I lift the bloody veil 
That hides my dark and fatal tale ? 



ROKEB V. 



307 









^=^ 






^ ^-^ ^ S£^/'«? 







I must — I will — Pale phantom, cease ! 
Leave me one little hour in peace ! 
Thus haunted, think'st thou I have skill 
Thine own commission to fulfil ? 
Or, while thou point'st with gesture fierce 
Thy blighted cheek, thy bloody hearse. 
How can I paint thee as thou wert, 
So fair in face, so warm in heart ! — 



' Yes, she was fair ! — Matilda, thou 
Hast a soft sadness on thy brow ; 
But hers was like the sunny glow. 
That laughs on earth and all below ! 
We wedded secret — there was need — 
Differing in country and in creed ; 
And when to Mortham's tower she came, 



3o8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



We mentioned not her race and name, 
Until tliy sire, who fought afar. 
Should turn him home from foreign war 
On whose kind influence we relied 
To soothe her father's ire and pride. 
Few months we lived retired, unknown 
To all but one clear friend alone, 
One darling friend — I spare his shame, 
I will not write the villain's name ! 
My trespasses I might forget. 
And sue in vengeance for the debt 
Due by a brother worm to me, 
Ungrateful to God's clemency, 
That spared me penitential time, 
Nor cut me off amid my crime. — 



' A kindly smile to all she lent. 

But on her husband's friend 't was bent 

So kind that from its harmless glee 

The wretch misconstrued villany. 

Repulsed in his presumptuous love, 

A vengeful snare the traitor wove. 

Alone we sat — the flask had flowed, 

My blood with heat unwonted glowed, 

When through the alleyed walk we spied 

With hurried step my Edith glide, 

Cowering beneath the verdant screen, 

As one unwilling to be seen. 

Words cannot paint the fiendish smile 

That curled the traitor's cheek the while I 

Fiercely I questioned of the cause ; 

He made a cold and artful pause. 

Then prayed it might not chafe my mood — 

" There was a gallant in the wood ! " 

We had been shooting at the deer ; 

My cross-bow — evil chance ! — was near : 

That ready weapon of my wrath 

I caught and, hasting up the path, 

In the yew grove my wife I found ; 

A stranger's arms her neck had bound ! 

I marked his heart — the bow I drew — 

I loosed the shaft — 't was more than true ! 

I found my Edith's dying charms 

Locked in her murdered brother's arms I 

He came in secret to inquire 

Her state and reconcile her sire. 



' All fled my rage — the villain first 
Whose craft my jealousy had nursed ; 
He sought in far and foreign clime 
To 'scape the vengeance of his crime. 
The manner of the slaughter done 
Was known to few, my guilt to ndne ; 
Some tale my faithful steward framed — 
I know not what — of shaft mis-aimed : 
And even from those the act who knew 
He hid the hand from which it flew. 



Untouched by human laws I stood, 

But God had heard the cry of blood ! 

There is a blank upon my mind, 

A fearful vision ill-defined 

Of raving till my flesh was torn 

Of dungeon-bolts and fetters worn — 

And when I waked to woe more mild 

And questioned of my infant child — 

Have I not written that she bare 

A boy, like summer morning fair? — 

With looks confused my menials tell 

That armed men in Mortham dell 

Beset the nurse's evening way, 

And bore her with her charge away. 

My faithless friend, and none but he. 

Could profit by this villany ; 

Him then I sought with purpose dread 

Of treble vengeance on his head ! 

He 'scaped me — but my bosom's wound 

Some faint relief from wandering found, 

And over distant land and sea 

I bore my load of misery. 



' "T was then that fate my footsteps led 

Among a daring crew and dread, 

With whom full oft my hated life 

I ventured in such desperate strife 

That even my fierce associates saw 

My frantic deeds with doubt and awe. 

Much then I learned and much can show 

Of human guilt and human woe. 

Yet ne'er have in my wanderings known 

A wretch whose sorrows matched my own ! — 

It chanced that after battle fray 

Upon the bloody field we lay ; 

The yellow moon her lustre shed 

Upon the wounded and the dead, 

While, sense in toil and wassail drowned, 

My rufiian comrades slept around. 

There came a voice — its silver tone 

Was soft, Matilda, as thine own — 

" Ah, wretch ! " it said, " what mak'st thou 

here, 
While vmavenged my bloody bier, 
While unprotected lives mine heir 
Without a father's name and care ? " 



'I heard — obeyed — and homeward drew; 

The fiercest of our desperate crew 

I brought, at time of need to aid 

My purposed vengeance long delayed. 

But humble be my thanks to Heaven 

That better hopes and tlioughts has given, 

And by our Lord's dear prayer has taught 

Mercy by mercy must be bought ! — 

Let me in misery rejoice — 

1 'vc seen his face — I 've heard his voice — 



ROKEBY. 



309 



I claimed of him my only child — 
As he disowned the theft, he smiled I 
That very calm and callous look, 
That fiendish sneer his visage took. 
As when he said, in scornful mood, 
" There is a gallant in the wood ! " — 
I did not slay him as he stood — 
All praise be to my Maker given ! 
Long suffrance is one path to heaven.' 



Thus far the woful tale was heard 
When something in the thicket stirred. 
Up Redmond sprung; the villain Guy — 
For he it was that lurked so nigh — 
Drew back — he durst not cross his steel 
A moment's space with brave O'Neale 
For all the treasured gold that rests 
In Mortham's iron-banded chests. 
Redmond resumed his seat ; — he said 
Some roe was rustling in the shade. 
Bertram laughed grimly when he saw 
His timorous comrade backward draw : 
'A trusty mate art thou, to fear 
A single arm, and aid so near ! 
Yet have I seen thee mark a deer. 
Give me thy carabine — I '11 show 
An art that thou wilt gladly know, 
How thou mayst safely quell a foe.' 



On hands and knees fierce Bertram drew 

The spreading birch and hazels through. 

Till he had Redmond full in view ; 

The gun he levelled — Mark like this 

Was Bertram never known to miss. 

When fair opposed to aim their sate 

An object of his mortal hate. 

That day young Redmond's death had seen, 

But twice Matilda came between 

The carabine and Redmond's breast 

Just ere the spring his finger pressed. 

A deadly oath the rufiian swore. 

But yet his fell design forbore : 

' It ne'er,' he muttered, ' shall be said 

That thus I scathed thee, haughty maid!' 

Then moved to seek more open aim, 

When to his side Guy Denzil came : 

' Bertram, forbear ! — we are undone 

For ever, if thou fire the gun. 

By all the fiends, an armed force 

Descends the dell of foot and horse ! 

We perish if they hear a shot — 

Madman ! we have a safer plot — 

Nay, friend, be ruled, and bear thee back ! 

Behold, down yonder hollow track 

The warlike leader of the band 

Comes with his broadsword in his hand.' 

Bertram looked up ; he saw, he knew 



That Denzil's fears had counselled true, 
Then cursed his fortune and withdrew, 
Threaded the woodlands undescried, 
And gained the cave on Greta side. 



They whom dark Bertram in his wrath 
Doomed to captivity or death. 
Their thoughts to one sad subject lent. 
Saw not nor heard the ambushment. 
Heedless and unconcerned they sate 
While on the very verge of fate. 
Heedless and unconcerned remained 
When Heaven the murderer's arm re- 
strained ; 
As shijDS drift darkling down the tide, 
Nor see the shelves o'er which they glide. 
Uninterrupted thus they heard 
What Mortham's closing tale declared. 
He spoke of wealth as of a load 
By fortune on a wretch bestowed, 
In bitter mockery of hate. 
His cureless woes to aggravate ; 
But yet he prayed Matilda's care 
Might save that treasure for his heir — 
His Edith's son — for still he raved 
As confident his life was saved ; 
In frequent vision, he averred, 
He saw his face, his voice he heard, 
Then argued calm — had murder been, 
The blood, the corpses, had been seen ; 
Some had pretended, too, to mark 
On Windermere a stranger bark. 
Whose crew, with jealous care yet mild, 
Guarded a female and a child. 
While these faint proofs he told and pressed, 
Hope seemed to kindle in his breast ; 
Though inconsistent, vague, and vain, 
It warped his judgment and his brain. 



These solemn words his story close : — 
' Heaven witness for me that I chose 
My part in this sad civil fight 
Moved by no cause but England's right. 
My country's groans have bid me draw 
My sword for gospel and for law ; — 
These righted, I fling arms aside 
And seek my son through Europe wide. 
My wealth, on which a kinsman nigh 
Already casts a grasping eye. 
With thee may unsuspected lie. 
When of my death Matilda hears. 
Let her retain her trust three years ; 
If none from me the treasure claim, 
Perished is Mortham's race and name. 
Then let itjeave her generous hand, 
And flow in bounty o'er the land, 
Soften the wounded prisoner's lot. 
Rebuild the peasant's ruined cot ; 



no 



SCOTT S POETICAL WORKS. 



So spoils, acquired by fight afar, 
Shall mitigate domestic war.' 



XXIX. 

The generous youths, who well had known 

Of Mortham's mind the powerful tone, 

To that high mind by sorrow swerved 

Gave sympathy his woes deserved ; 

But Wilfrid chief, who saw revealed 

Why Mortham wished his life concealed, 

In secret, doubtless, to pursue 

The schemes his wildered fancy drew. 

Thoughtful he heard Matilda tell 

That she would share her father's cell, 

His partner of captivity. 

Where'er his prison-house should be ; 

Yet grieved to think that Rokeby-hall, 

Dismantled and forsook by all, 

Open to rapine and to stealth, 

Had now no safeguard for the wealth 

Intrusted by her kinsman kind 

And for such noble use designed. 

'Was Barnard Castle then her choice,' 

Wilfrid inquired with hasty voice, 

' Since there the victor's laws ordain 

Her father must a space remain?' 

A fluttered hope his accent shook, 

A fluttered joy was in his look. 

Matilda hastened to reply. 

For anger flashed in Redmond's eye ; — 

' Duty,' she said, with gentle grace, 

' Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place ; 

Else had I for my sire assigned 

Prison less galling to his mind 

Than that his wild-wood haunts which sees 

And hears the murmur of the Tees, 

Recalling thus with every glance 

What captive's sorrow can enhance ; 

But where those woes are highest, there 

Needs Rokeby most his daughter's care.' 



He felt the kindly check she gave, 

And stood abashed — then answered grave : 

' I sought thy purpose, noble maid, 

Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid. 

I have beneath mine own command, 

So wills my sire, a gallant band, 

And well could send some horsemen wight 

To bear the treasure forth by night. 

And so bestow it as you deem 

In these ill days may safest seem.' 

' Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks,' she said : 

' O, be it not one day delayed ! 

And. more thy sister-friend to aid, 

Be thou thyself content to hold 

In thine own keeping Mortham's gold. 

Safest with thee.'— 'While thus she spoke. 

Armed soldiers on their converse broke. 



The same of whose approach afraid 
The ruffians left their ambuscade. 
Their chief to Wilfrid bended low, 
Then looked around as for a foe. 
'What mean'st thou, friend,' young Wyc- 

liffe said, 
• Why thus in arms beset the glade ? ' — 
' That would I gladly learn from you ; 
For up my squadron as I drew 
To exercise our martial game 
Upon the moor of Barninghame, 
A stranger told you were waylaid. 
Surrounded, and to death betrayed. 
He had a leader's voice, I ween, 
A falcon glance, a warrior's mien. 
He bade me bring you instant aid; 
I doubted not and I obeyed.' 



Wilfrid changed color, and amazed 
Turned short and on the speaker gazed, 
While Redmond every thicket round 
Tracked earnest as a questing hound, 
And Denzil's carabine he found; 
Sure evidence by which they knew 
The warning was as kind as true. 
Wisest it seemed with cautious speed 
To leave the dell. It was agreed 
That Redmond with Matilda fair 
And fitting guard should home repair : 
At nightfall Wilfrid should attend 
With a strong band his sister-friend, 
To bear with her from Rokeby's bowers 
To Barnard Castle's lofty towers 
Secret and safe the banded chests 
In which the wealth of Mortham rests. 
This hasty purpose fixed, they part, 
Each with a grieved and anxious heart. 



Hokcbg. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



The sultry summer day is done. 
The western hills have hid the sun, 
But mountain peak and village spire 
Retain reflection of his fire. 
Old Barnard's towers are purple still 
To those that gaze from Toller-hill ; 
Distant and high, the tower of Bowes 
Like steel upon the anvil glows ; 
And Stanmore's ridge behind that lay 
Rich with the spoils of parting day. 
In crimson and in gold arrayed, 
Streaks yet awhile the closing shade, 



ROKEBY. 



311 




"'^~ "^ JM^ ' iaV*V*^ ^ -^^ 









Then slow resigns to darkening heaven 
The tints which brighter hours had given. 
Thus aged men full loath and slow 
The vanities of life forego, 
And count their youthful follies o'er 
Till memory lends her light no more. 



The eve that slow on upland fades 
Has darker closed on Rokeby's glades 
Where, sunk within their banks profound, 
Her guardian streams to meeting wound. 
The stately oaks, whose sombre frown 
Of noontide made a twilight brown^ 
Impervious now to fainter light, 
Of twilight make an early night. 
Hoarse into middle air arose 
The vespers of the roosting crows. 
And with congenial murmurs seem 
To wake the Genii of the stream; 
For louder clamored Greta's tide. 
And Tees in deeper voice replied 
And fitful waked the evening wind, 
Fitful in sighs its breath resigned. 
Wilfrid, whose fancy-nurtured soul 
Felt in the sceiie a soft control. 
With lighter footstep pressed the ground, 
And often paused to look around ; 
And, though his path was to his love. 
Could not but linger in the grove. 
To drink the thrilling interest dear 
Of awful pleasure checked by fear. 



Such inconsistent moods have we. 
Even when our passions strike the key. 



Now, through the wood's dark mazes 

past. 
The opening lawn he reached at last 
Where, silvered by the moonlight ray. 
The ancient Hall before him lay. 
Those martial terrors long were fled 
That frowned of old around its head : 
The battlements, the turrets gray, 
Seemed half abandoned to decay ; 
On barbican and keep of stone 
Stern Time the foeman's work had done. 
Where banners the invader braved. 
The harebell now and wallflower waved ; 
In the rude guard-room where of yore 
Their weary hours the warders wore, 
Now, while the cheerful fagots blaze, 
On the paved floor the spindle plays; 
The flanking guns dismounted lie. 
The moat is ruinous and dry, 
The grim portcullis gone — and all 
The fortress turned to peaceful Hall. 



But yet precautions lately ta'en 
Showed danger's day revived again ; 
The court-yard wall showed marks of care 
The fall'n defences to repair. 



312 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Lending such strength as might withstand 
The insult of marauding band. 
The beams once more were taught to bear 
The trembHng drawbridge into air, 
And not till questioned o'er and o'er 
For Wilfrid oped the jealous door, 
And when he entered bolt and bar 
Resumed their place with sullen jar ; 
Then, as he crossed the vaulted porch, 
The old gray porter raised his torch. 
And viewed him o'er from foot to head 
Ere to the hall his steps he led. 
That huge old hall of knightly state 
Dismantled seemed and desolate. 
The moon through transom-shafts of stone 
Which crossed the latticed oriels shone. 
And by the mournful light she gave 
The Gothic vault seemed funeral cave. 
Pennon and banner waved no more 
O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar. 
Nor glimmering arms were marshalled seen 
To glance those sylvan spoils between. 
Those arms, those ensigns, borne away. 
Accomplished Rokeby's brave array. 
But all were lost on Marston's day! 
Yet here and there the moonbeams fall 
Where armor yet adorns the wall. 
Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight, 
And useless in the modern fight, 
Like veteran relic of the wars 
Known only by neglected scars. 



Matilda soon to greet him came, 

And bade them light the evening flame ; 

Said all for parting was prepared. 

And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard. 

But then, reluctant to unfold 

His father's avarice of gold, 

He hinted that lest jealous eye 

Should on their precious burden pry, 

He judged it best the castle gate 

To enter when the night wore late ; 

And therefore he had left command 

With those he trusted of his band 

That they should be at Rokeby met 

What time the midnight-watch was set. 

Now Redmond came, whose anxious care 

Till then was busied to prepare 

All needful, meetly to arrange 

The mansion for its mournful change. 

With Wilfrid's care and kindness,pleased, 

His cold unready hand he seized, 

And pressed it till his kindly strain 

The gentle youth returned again. 

Seemed as between them this was said, 

' Awhile let jealousy be dead. 

And let our contest be whose care 

Shall best assist this helpless fair.' 



There was no speech the truce to bind ; 

It was a compact of the mind, 

A generous thought at once impressed 

On either rival's generous breast. 

Matilda well the secret took 

From sudden change of mien and look, 

And — for not smatl had been her fear 

Of jealous ire and danger near — 

Felt even in her dejected state 

A joy beyond the reach of fate. 

They closed beside the chimney's blaze, 

And talked, and hoped for happier days,' 

And lent their spirits' rising glow 

Awhile to gild imjaending woe — 

High privilege of youthful time. 

Worth all the pleasures of our prime \ 

The bickering; fagot sparkled bright 

And gave the scene of love to sight. 

Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow. 

Played on Matilda's neck of snow. 

Her nut-brown curls and forehead high, 

And laughed in Redmond's azure eye. 

Two lovers by the maiden sate 

Without a glance of jealous hate ; 

The maid her lovers sat between 

With open brow and equal mien ; 

It is a sight but rarely spied. 

Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride. 



While thus in peaceful guise they sate 
A knock alarmed the outer gate. 
And ere the tardy porter stirred 
The tinkling of a harp was heard. 
A manly voice of mellow swell 
Bore burden to the music well : — 

Song. 

' Summer eve is gone and past, 
Summer dew is falling fast ; 
I have wandered all the day, 
Do not bid me farther stray ! 
Gentle hearts of gentle kin. 
Take the wandering harper in! ' 

But the stern porter answer gave. 

With ' Get thee hence, thou strolling knave ! 

The king wants soldiers ; war, I trow, 

Were meeter trade for such as thou.' 

At this unkind reproof again 

Answered the ready Minstrel's strain : 

■Song l^csumcti. 

' Bid not me, in battle-field. 
Buckler lift or broadsword wield! 
All my strength and all my art 
Is to touch the gentle heart 
With the wizard notes that ring 
From the peaceful minstrel-string.' 



ROKEBY. 



313 



The porter, all unmoved, replied, — 
' Depart in peace, with Heaven to guide 
If longer by the gate thou dwell. 
Trust me, thou shalt not part so well.' 



With somewhat of appealing look 
The harper's part young Wilfrid took : 
' These notes so wild and ready thrill. 



IX. 

Song ISesumElJ. 

' I have song of war for knight. 
Lay of love for lady bright, 
Fairy tale to lull the heir. 
Goblin grim the maids to scare. 
Dark the night and long till day. 
Do not bid me farther stray! 




They show no vulgar minstrel's skill; 

Hard were his task to seek a home 

More distant, since the night is come; 

And for his faith I dare engage — 

Your Harpool's blood is soured by age ; 

His gate, once readily displayed 

To greet the friend, the poor to aid. 

Now even to me though known of old 

Did but reluctantly unfold.' — 

' O blame not as poor Harpool's crime 

An evil of this evil time. 

He deems dependent on his care 

The safety of his patron's heir, 

Nor judges meet to ope the tower 

To guest unknown at parting hour, 

Urging his duty to excess 

Of rough and stubborn faithfulness. 

For this poor harper, I would fain 

He may relax : — hark to his strain ! ' 



' Rokeby's lords of martial fame, 
I can count them name by name; 
Legends of their line there be. 
Known to few but known to me ; 
If you honor Rokeby's kin, 
Take the wandering harper in ! 

' Rokeby's lords had fair regard 
For the harp and for the bard ; 
Baron's race throve never well 
Where the curse of minstrel fell. 
If you love that noble kin. 
Take the weary harper in ! ' 

' Hark ! Harpool parleys — there is hope ' 
Said Redmond, ' that the gate will ope.' — 
' For all thy brag and boast, I trow, 
Nauo;ht knowest thou of the Felon Sow,' 



3H 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ouoth Harpool, ' nor how Greta-side 
She roamed and Rokeby forest wide ; 
Nor how Ralph Rokeby gave the beast 
To Richmond's friars to make a feast. 
Of Gilbert Griffinson the tale 
Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale 
That well could strike with sword amain, 
And of the valiant son of Spain, 
Friar Middleton, and blithe Sir Ralph ; 
There were a jest to make us laugh ! 
If thou canst tell it, in yon shed. 
Thou 'st won thy supper and thy bed.' 



Matilda smiled ; ' Cold hope,' said she, 
' From Harpool's love of minstrelsy ! 
But for this harper may we dare, 
Redmond, to mend his couch and fare?' 
' O, ask me not ! — At minstrel-string 
My heart from infancy would spring: 
Nor can I hear its simplest strain 
But it brings Erin's dream again, 
When placed by Owen Lysagh's knee — 
The Filea of O'Neale was he, 
A blind and bearded man whose eld 
Was sacred as a prophet's held — 
I 've seen a ring of rugged kerne, 
With aspects shaggy, wild, and stern, 
Enchanted by the master's lay. 
Linger around the livelong day. 
Shift from wild rage to wilder glee. 
To love, to grief, to ecstasy. 
And feel each varied change of soul 
Obedient to the bard's control. — 
Ah, Clandeboy ! thy friendly floor 
Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no mure 
Nor Owen's harp beside the blaze 
Tell maiden's love or hero's praise ! 
The mantling brambles hide thy hearth, 
Centre of hospitable mirth ; 
All undistinguished in the glade. 
My sires' glad home is prostrate laid. 
Their vassals wander wide and far. 
Serve foreign lords in distant war. 
And now the stranger's sons enjoy 
The lovely woods of Clandeboy ! ' 
He spoke, and proudly turned aside 
The starting tear to dry and hide. 



Matilda's dark and softened eye 

Was glistening ere O'Neale's was dry. 

Her hand upon his arm she laid, — 

' It is the will of Heaven,' she said. 

' And think'st thou, Redmond, I can part 

From this loved home with lightsome 

heart. 
Leaving to wild neglect whate'er 
Even from my infancy was dear ? 
For in this calm domestic bound 



Were all Matilda's pleasures found. 

That hearth my sire was wont to grace 

Full soon may be a stranger's place ; 

This hall in which a child I played 

Like thine, dear Redmond, lowly laid, 

The bramble and the thorn may braid ; 

Or, passed for aye from me and mine, 

It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line. 

Yet is this consolation given. 

My Redmond, — 't is the will of Heaven." 

Her word, her action, and her phrase 

Were kindly as in early days ; 

For cold reserve had lost its power 

In sorrow's sympathetic hour. 

Young Redmond dared not trust his voice ; 

But rather had it been his choice 

To share that melancholy hour 

Than, armed with all a chieftain's power. 

In full possession to enjoy 

Slieve-Donard wide and Clandeboy. 



The blood left Wilfrid's ashen cheek, 

Matilda sees and hastes to speak. — 

' Happy in friendship's ready aid, 

Let all my murmurs here be staid ! 

And Rokeby's maiden will not part 

From Rokeby's hall with moody heart. 

This night at least for Rokeby's fame 

The hospitable hearth shall flame. 

And ere its native heir retire 

Find for the wanderer rest and fire, 

While this poor harper by the blaze 

Recounts the tale of other days. 

Bid Harpool ope the door with speed. 

Admit him and relieve each need. — 

Meantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt thou try 

Thy minstrel skill ? — Nay, no reply — 

And look not sad ! — I guess thy thought ; 

Thy verse with laurels would be bought, 

And poor Matilda, landless now. 

Has not a garland for thy brow. 

True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's glades, 

Nor wander more in Greta shades ; 

But sure, no rigid jailer, thou 

Wilt a short prison-walk allow 

Where summer flowers grow wild at will 

On Marwood-chase and Toller Hill ; 

Then holly green and lily gay 

Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay.' 

The mournful youth a space aside 

To tune Matilda's harp applied, 

And then a low sad descant rung 

As prelude to the lay he sung. 



' O, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 



ROKEBY. 



315 



Too lively glow the lilies light, 
The varnished holly 's all too bright, 
The May-flower and the eglantine 
May shade a brow less sad than mine ; 
But, lady, weave no wreath for me. 
Or weave it of the cypress-tree ! 

' Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine 
With tendrils of the laughing vine ; 
The manly oak, the pensive yew. 
To patriot and to sage be due ; 
The myrtle bough bids lovers live. 
But that Matilda will not give ; 
Then, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 

' Let merry England proudly rear 

Her blended roses bought so dear; 

Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 

With heath and harebell dipped in dew ; 

On favored Erin's crest be seen 

The flower she loves of emerald green — 

But, lady, twine no wreath for me, 

Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 

' Strike the wild harp while maids prepare 
The ivy meet for minstrel's hair ; 
And, while his crown of laurel-leaves 
% With bloody hand the victor weaves. 
Let the loud trump his triumph tell ; 
But when you hear the passing-bell. 
Then, lady, twine a wreath for me. 
And twine it of the cj'press-tree. 

' Yes ! twine for me the cypress-bough ; 
But, O Matilda, twine not now ! 
Stay till a few brief months are past. 
And I have looked and loved my last ! 
When villagers my shroud bestrew 
With pansies, rosemary, and rue, — 
Then, lady, weave a wreath for me, 
And weave it of the cypress-tree.' 



O'Neale observed the starting tear. 

And spoke with kind and blithesome 

cheer — 
' No, noble Wilfrid ! ere the day 
When mourns the land thy silent lay, 
Shall many a wreath be freely wove' 
By hand of friendship and of love. 
I would not wish that rigid Fate 
Had doomed thee to a captive's state. 
Whose hands are bound by honor's law, 
Who wears a sword he must not draw ; 
But were it so, in minstrel pride 
The land together would we ride 
On prancing steeds, like harpers old, 
Bound for the halls of barons bold ; 



Each lover of the lyre we 'd seek 
From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw's Peak, 
Survey wild Albin's mountain strand, 
And roam green Erin's lovely land. 
While thou the gentler souls should move 
With lay of pity and of love. 
And I, thy mate, in rougher s*^rain 
Would sing of war and warriors slain. 
Old England's bards were vancjuished then, 
And Scotland's vaunted Hawthornden, 
And, silenced on lernian shore, 
M'Curtin's harp should charm no more ! ' 
In lively mood he spoke to wile 
From Wilfrid's woe-worn cheek a smile. 



XV. 

' But,' said Matilda, ' ere thy name. 

Good Redmond, gain its destined fame, 

Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call 

Thy brother-minstrel to the hall ? 

Bid all the household too attend, 

Each in his rank a humble friend ; 

I know their faithful hearts will grieve 

When their poor mistress takes her leave; 

So let the horn and beaker flow 

To mitigate their parting woe.' 

The harper came ; — in youth's first prime 

Himself ; in mode of olden time 

His garb was fashioned, to express 

The ancient English minstrel's dress, 

A seemly gown of Kendal green 

With gorget closed of silver sheen ; 

His harp in silken scarf was slung. 

And by his side an anlace hung. 

It seemed some masquer's quaint array 

For revel or for holiday. 



He made obeisance with a free 
Yet studied air of courtesy. 
Each look and accent framed to please 
Seemed to affect a playful ease; 
His face was of that doubtful kind 
That wins the eye, but not the mind ; 
Yet harsh it seemed to deem amiss 
Of brow so young and smooth as this. 
His was the subtle look and sly 
That, spying all, seems naught to spy ; 
Round all the group his glances stole. 
Unmarked themselves, to mark the whole. 
Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look. 
Nor could the ej^ of Redmond brook. 
To the suspicious or the old 
Subtle and dangerous and bold 
Had seemed this self-invited guest ; 
But young our lovers, — and the rest. 
Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear 
At parting of their Mistress dear. 



3i6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Tear-blinded to the castle-hall 
Came as to bear her funeral pal 



All that expression base was gone 

When waked the guest his minstrel tone ; 

It fled at inspiration's call, 

As erst the demon fled from Saul. 

More noble glance he cast around, 

More free-drawn breath inspired the sound. 

His pulse beat bolder and more high 

In all the pride of minstrelsy ! 

Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er, 

Sunk with the lay that bade it soar ! 

His soul resumed with habit's chain 

Its vices wild and follies vain, 

And gave the talent with him born, 

To be a common curse and scorn. 

Such was the youth whom Rokeby's maid 

With condescending kindness prayed 

Here to renew the strains she loved, 

At distance heard and well approved. 



THE HARP. 

I was a wild and wayward boy. 

My childhood scorned each childish toy : 

Retired from all, reserved and coy, 

To musing prone. 
I wooed my solitary joy. 

My Harp alone. 

My youth with bold ambition's mood 
Despised the humble stream and wood 
Where my poor father's cottage stood, 

To fame unknown ; — 
What should my soaring views make good 'i 

My Harp alone ! 

Love came with all his frantic fire. 
And wild romance of vain desire : 
The baron's daughter heard my lyre 

And praised the tone ; — 
What could presumptuous hope inspire ? 

My Harp alone ! 

At manhood's touch the bubble burst. 
And manhood's pride the vision curst. 
And all that had my folly nursed 

Love's sway to own ; 
Yet -spared the spell that lulled me first. 

My Harp alone ! 

Woe came with war, and want with woe. 
And it was mine to undergo 
Each outrage of the rebel foe : — 

Can aught atone 
My fields laid waste, my cot laid low.' 

My Harp alone ! 



Ambition's dreams I 've seen depart, 
Have rued of penury the smart. 
Have felt of love the venomed dart, 

When hope was flown ; 
Yet rests one solace to my heart, — 

My Harp alone ! 

Then over mountain, moor, and hill. 
My faithful Harp, I '11 bear thee still: 
And when this life of want and ill 

Is wellnigh gone. 
Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill, 

My Harp alone ! 



• A pleasing lay ! ' Matilda said ; 

But Harpool shook his old gray head, 

And took his baton and his torch 

To seek his guard-room in the porch. 

Edmund observed — with sudden change 

Among the strings his fingers range, 

Until they waked a bolder glee 

Of military melody. 

Then paused amid the martial sound, 

And looked with well-feigned fear around ; — 

' None to this noble house belong,' 

He said, 'that would a minstrel wrong 

Whose fate has been through good and ill 

To love his Royal Master still. 

And with your honored leave would fain 

Rejoice you with a loyal strain.' 

Then, as assured by sign and look. 

The warlike tone again he took ; 

And Harpool stopped and turned to hear 

A ditty of the Cavalier. 



XX. 

Song. 

THE CAVALIER. 

While the dawn on the mountain was misty 

and gray. 
My true love has mounted his steed and 

away. 
Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er 

down ; 
Heaven shield the brave gallant that fights 

for the Crown ! 

He has doffed the silk doublet the breast- 
plate to bear. 

He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long- 
flowing hair, 

From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword 
hangs down, — 

Heaven shield the brave gallant that fights 
for the Crown I 



ROKEBY. 



317 




'fey ■■-J'^'-^^-ii' 



P^or the rights of fair England that broad- 
sword he draws, 

Her King is his leader, her Church is his 
cause ; 

His watchword is honor, his pay is renown, — 

God strike with the gallant that strikes for 
the Crown ! 

They may boast of their Fairfax, their 
Waller, and all 

The roundheaded rebels of Westminster 
Hall; 

But tell these bold traitors of London's 
proud town, 

That the spears of the North have encir- 
cled the Crown. 

There 's Derby and Cavendish, dread of 

their foes ; 
There 's Erin's high Ormond and Scotland's 

Montrose ! 
Would you match the base Skippon, and 

Massey, and Brown, 
With the Barons of England that fight for 

the Crown ? 

Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier! 
Be his banner unconquered, resistless his 

spear, 
Till in peace and in triumph his toils he 

may drown. 
In a pledge to fair England, her Church, 

and her Crown. 



' Alas ! ' Matilda said, ' that strain. 
Good harper, now is heard in vain ! 
The time has been at such a sound 
When Rokeby's vassals gathered round. 
An hundred manly hearts would bound ; 
But now, the stirring verse we hear 
Like trump in dying soldier's ear! 
Listless and sad the notes we own. 
The power to answer them is flown. 
Yet not without his meet applause 
Be he that sings the rightful cause. 
Even when the crisis of its fate 
To human eye seems desperate. 
While Rokeby's heir such power retains, 
Let this slight guerdon pay thy pains : — 
And lend thy harp ; I fain would try 
If my poor skill can aught supply. 
Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall. 
To mourn the cause in which we fall.' 



The harper with a downcast look 
And trembling hand her bounty took. 
As yet the conscious pride of art 
Had steeled him in his treacherous part ; 
A powerful spring of force unguessed 
That hath each gentler mood suppressed, 
And reigned in many a human breast. 
From his that plans the red campaign 
To his that wastes the woodland rei^n. 



31! 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The failing wing, the blood-shot eye 
The sportsman marks with apathy, 
Each feeling of his victim's ill 
Drowned in his own successful skill. 
The veteran, too, who now no more 
Aspires to head the battle's roar. 
Loves still the triumph of his art, 
And traces on the pencilled chart 
Some stern invader's destined way 
Through blood and ruin to his prey ; 
Patriots to death, and towns to flame 
He dooms, to raise another's name. 
And shares the guilt, though not the fame. 
What pays him for his span of time 
Spent in premeditating crime .'' 
What against pity arms his heart .'' 
It is the conscious pride of art. 



But principles in Edmund's mind 
Were baseless, vague, and undefined. 
His soul, like bark with rudder lost, 
On passion's changeful tide was tost ; 
Nor vice nor virtue had the power 
Beyond the impression of the hour ; 
And O, when passion rules, how rare 
The hours that fall to Virtue's share ! 
Yet now she roused her — for the pride 
That lack of sterner guilt supplied 
Could scarce support him when arose 
The lay that mourned Matilda's woes. 

THE FAREWELL. 

* The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear. 

They mingle with the song : 
Dark Greta's voice is in mine ear, 

I must not hear them long. 
From every loved and native haunt 

The native heir must stray, 
And, like a ghost whom sunbeams daunt. 

Must part before the day. 

' Soon from the halls my fathers reared. 

Their scutcheons may descend, 
A line so long beloved and feared 

May soon obscurely end. 
No longer here Matilda's tone 

Shall bid these echoes swell ; 
Yet shall they hear her proudly own 

The cause in which we fell.' 

The lady paused, and then again 
Resumed the lay in loftier strain. — 



' Let our halls and towers decay. 
Be our name and line forgot. 



Lands and manors pass away, — 
We but share our monarch's lot. 

If no more our annals show 

Battles won and banners taken. 

Still in death, defeat, and woe. 
Ours be loyalty unshaken ! 

' Constant still in danger's hour. 

Princes owned our fathers' aid ; 
Lands and honors, wealth and power, 

Well their loyalty repaid. 
Perish wealth and power and pride, 

Mortal boons by mortals given ! 
But let constancy abide, 

Constancy 's the gift of Heaven. 



While thus Matilda's lay was heard, 

A thousand thoughts in Edmund stirred. 

In peasant life he might have known 

As fair a face, as sweet a tone ; 

But village notes could ne'er supply 

That rich and varied melody. 

And ne'er in cottage maid was seen 

The easy dignity of mien. 

Claiming respect yet waiving state, 

That marks the daughters of the great. ■ 

Yet not perchance had these alone 

His scheme of purposed guilt o'erthrown: 

But while her energy of mind 

Superior rose to griefs combined. 

Lending its kindling to her eye. 

Giving her form new majesty, — 

To Edmund's thought Matilda seemed 

The very object he had dreamed 

When, long ere guilt his soul had known, 

In Winston bowers he mused alone, 

Taxing his fancy to combine 

The face, the air, the voice divine, 

Of princess fair by cruel fate 

Reft of her honors, power, and state, 

Till to her rightful realm restored 

By destined hero's conquering sword. 



' Such was my vision ! ' Edmund thought ; 

'And have I then the ruin wrought 

Of such a maid that fancy ne'er 

In fairest vision formed her peer ? 

Was it my hand that could unclose 

The postern to her ruthless foes .'' 

Foes lost to honor, law, and faith, 

Their kindest mercy sudden death ! 

Have I done this? I, who have swore 

That if the globe such angel bore, 

I would have traced its circle broad 

To kiss the ground on which she trode ! — 

And now — O, would that earth would rive 

And close uoon me while alive ! — 



ROKEBY. 



319 



Is there no hope ? — is all then lost ? — 

Bertram 's already on his post ! 

Even now beside the hall's arched door 

I saw his shadow cross the floor ! 

He was to wait my signal strain — 

A little respite thus we gain : 

By what I heard the menials say, 

Young Wycliffe's troop are on their way — 

Alarm precipitates the crime ! 

My harp must wear away the time.' — 

And then in accents faint and low 

He faltered forth a tale of woe. 

XXVII. 

Ballati. 

' " And whither would you lead me then ? "' 
Quoth the friar of orders gray ; 

And the ruffians twain replied again, 
" By a dying woman to pray." — 

' " I see," he said, " a lovely sight, 

A sight bodes little harm, 
A lady as a lily bright 

With an infant on her arm." — 

' " Then do thine office, friar gray, 

And see thou shrive her free I 
Else shall the sprite that parts to-night 

Fling all its guilt on thee. 

' " Let mass be said and trentrals read 
When thou 'rt to convent gone, 

And bid the bell of Saint Benedict 
Toll out its deepest tone." 

' The shrift is done, the friar is gone, 

BHndfolded as he came — 
Next morning all in Littlecot Hall 

Were weeping for their dame. 

' Wild Darrell is an altered man, 

The village crones can tell ; 
He looks pale as clay and strives to pray, 

If he hears the convent bell. 

' If prince or peer cross Darrell's way, 
He '11 beard him in his pride — 

If he meet a friar of orders gray, 
He droops and turns aside.' 

XXVIII. 

' Harper ! methinks thy magic lays,' 
Matilda said, ' can goblins raise ! 
Wellnigh my fancy can discern 
Near the dark porch a visage stern ; 
E'en now in yonder shadowy nook 
I see it ! — Redmond, Wilfrid, look ! — 
A human form distinct and clear — 



God, for thy mercy ! — It draws near ! ' 

She saw too true. Stride after stride, 

The centre of that chamber wide 

Fierce Bertram gained ; then made a stand, 

And, proudly waving with his hand. 

Thundered — ' Be still, upon your lives ! — 

He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives.' 

Behind their chief the robber crew. 

Forth from the darkened portal drew 

In silence — save that echo dread 

Returned their heavy measured tread. 

The lamp's uncertain lustre gave 

Their arms to gleam, their j^lumes to wave : 

File after file in order pass, 

Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass. 

Then, halting at their leader's sign, 

At once they formed and curved their line, 

Hemming within its crescent drear 

Their victims like a herd of deer. 

Another sign, and to the aim 

Levelled at once their muskets came. 

As waiting but their chieftain's word 

To make their fatal volley heard. 



Back in a heap the menials drew ; 

Yet, even in mortal terror true. 

Their pale and startled group oppose 

Between Matilda and the foes. 

• O, haste thee, Wilfrid ! ' Redmond cried ; 

' Undo that wicket by thy side ! 

Bear hence Matilda — gain the wood 

The pass may be awhile made good — • 

Thy band ere this must sure be nigh — 

speak not — dally not — but fly ! ' 
While yet the crowd their motions hide, 
Through the low wicket door they glide. 
Through vaulted passages they wind. 

In Gothic intricacy twined ; 

Wilfrid half led and half he bore 

Matilda to the postern door. 

And safe beneath the forest tree. 

The lady stands at liberty. 

The moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress, 

Renewed suspended consciousness; — 

' Where 's Redmond .'* ' eagerly she cries : 

' Thou answer'st not — he dies ! he dies ! 

And thou hast left him all bereft 

Of mortal aid — with murderers left ! 

1 know it well — he would not yield 
His sword to man — his doom is sealed ! 
For my scorned life, which thou hast bought 
At price of his, I thank thee not.' 

XXX. 

The unjust reproach, the angry look, 
The heart of Wilfrid could not brook. 
' Lady,' he said, 'my band so near. 
In safety thou mayst rest thee here. 



!20 



SCOTTS POETICAL IVOKKS. 



For Redmond's death thou shalt not mourn, 
If mine can buy his safe return.' 
He turned away — his heart throbbed high, 
The tear was bursting from his eye ; 
The sense of her injustice pressed 
Upon the maid's distracted breast, — 
' Stay, Wilfrid, stay ! all aid is vain ! ' 
He heard but turned him not again ! 
He reaches now tlic postern-door. 
Now enters — and is seen no more. 



With all the agony that e'er 
Was gendered 'twixt suspense and fear, 
She watched the line of windows tall 
Whose Gothic lattice lights the Hall, 
Distinguished by the paly red 
The lamps in dim reflection shed. 
While all beside in wan moonlight 
Each grated casement glimmered white. 
No sight of harm, no sound of ill, 
It is a deep and midnight still. 
Who looked upon the scene had guessed 
All in the castle were at rest — 
When sudden on the windows shone 
A lightning flash just seen and gone ! 
A shot is heard — again the Hame 
Flashed thick and fast — a volley came ! 
Then echoed wildly from within 
Of shout and scream the mingled din. 
And weapon-clash and maddening cry. 
Of those who kill and tiiose who die ! — 
As filled the hall with sulphurous smoke. 
More red, more dark, the death-flash broke, 
And forms were on the lattice cast 
That struck or struggled as they past. 



What sounds upon the midnight wind 

Approach so rapidly behind .'' 

It is, it is, the tramp of steeds, 

Matilda hears the sound, she speeds, 

Seizes upon the leader's rein — 

' O, haste to aid ere aid be vain ! 

Fly to the postern — gain the hall ! ' 

From saddle spring the troopers all ; 

Their gallant steeds at liberty 

Run wild along the moonlight lea. 

But ere they burst upon the scene 

Full stubborn had the conflict been. 

When liertram marked Matilda's flight, 

It gave the signal for the fight ; 

And Rokeby's veterans, seamed with scars 

Of Scotlancl's and of Erin's wars. 

Their momentary panic o'er. 

Stood to the arms which then they bore — 

For they were weajioned and prepared 

Their mistress on her way to guard. 

Then cheered them to the fisrht O'Nealc. 



Then pealed the shot, and clashed the steel ; 
The war-smoke soon with sable breath 
Darkened the scene of blood and death. 
While on the few defenders close 
The bandits with redoubled blows. 
And, twice driven back, yet fierce and fell 
Renew the charge with frantic yell. 



Wilfrid has fallen — but o'er him stood 
Young Redmond soiled with smoke and 

blood, 
Cheering his mates with heart and hand 
Still to make good their desperate stand : 
' Up, comrades, up ! In Rokeby halls 
Ne'er be it said our courage falls. 
What ! faint ye for their savage cry. 
Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt your eye.' 
These rafters have returned a shout 
As loud at Rokeby's wassail rout. 
As thick a smoke these hearths have given 
At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even. 
Stand to it yet ! renew the fight 
For Rokeby's and Matilda's right ! 
These slaves ! they dare not hand to hand 
Bide buffet from a true man's brand.' 
Impetuous, active, fierce, and young, 
Upon the advancing foes he sprung. 
Woe to the wretch at whom is bent 
His brandished falchion's sheer descent ! 
Backward they scattered as he came. 
Like wolves before the levin flame. 
When, mid their howling conclave driven. 
Hath glanced the thunderbolt of heaven. 
Bertram ru.shed on — but Harpool clasped 
His knees, although in death he gasped, 
His falling corpse before him flung. 
And round the trammelled ruffian clung. 
Just then the soldiers filled the dome. 
And shouting charged the felons home 
So fiercely that in panic dread 
They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled, 
Bertram's stern voice they heed no more. 
Though heard above the battle's roar; 
While, trampling down the dying man, 
He strove with volleyed threat and ban 
In scorn of odds, in fate's despite. 
To rally up the desperate fight. 



Soon murkier clouds the hall enfold 
Than e'er from battle-thunders rolled. 
So dense the combatants scarce know 
To aim or to avoid the blow. 
Smothering and blindfold grows the fight 
But soon shall dawn a dismal light! 
Mid cries and clashing arms there came 
The hollow sound of rushing flame ; 
New horrors on the tumult dire 
Arise — the castle is on fire ! 



ROKEBY 



321 




Doubtful if chance had cast the brand 
Or frantic Bertram's desperate hand. 
Matilda saw — for frequent broke 
From the dim casements gusts of smoke, 
Yon tower, which late so clear defined 
On the fair hemisphere reclined 
That, pencilled on its azure pure. 
The eye could count each embrasure, 
Now, swathed within the sweeping cloud. 
Seems giant-spectre in his shroud ; 



Till, from each loop-hole flashing light, 
A spout of fire shines ruddy bright, 
And, gathering to united glare, 
Streams high into the midnight air ; 
A dismal beacon, far and wide 
That wakened Greta's slumbering side. 
Soon all beneath, through gallery long 
And pendent arch, the fire flashed strong. 
Snatching whatever could maintain. 
Raise, or extend its furious reign ; 



\22 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Startling with closer cause of dread 
The females who the conflict fled, 
And now rushed forth upon the plain, 
Fillins: the air with clamors vain. 



But ceased not yet the hall within 

The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din, 

Till bursting lattices give proof 

The flames have caught the raftered roof. 

What ! wait they till its beams amain 

Crash on the slayers and the slain ? 

The alarm is caught — the drawbridge falls, 

The warriors hurry from the walls, 

But by the conflagration's light 

Upon the lawn renew the fight. 

Each straggling felon down was hewed, 

Not one could gain the sheltering wood ; 

But forth the affrighted harper sprung, 

And to Matilda's robe he clung. 

Her shriek, entreaty, and command 

-Stopped the jjursuer's lifted hand. 

Denzil and he alive were ta'en ; 

The rest save Bertram all are slain. 

XXXVI. 

And where is Bertram ? — Soaring high, 
The general flame ascends the sky ; 
In gathered group the soldiers gaze 
Upon the broad and roaring blaze, 
When, like infernal demon, sent 
Red from his penal element, 
To plague and to pollute the air, 
His face all gore, on fire his hair. 
Forth from the central mass of smoke 
The giant form of Bertram broke ! 
His brandished sword on high he rears, 
Then plunged among opposing spears ; 
Round his left arm his mantle trussed, 
Received and foiled three lances' thrust ; 
Nor these his headlong course withstood, 
Like reeds he snapped the tough ashwood. 
In vain his foes around him clung; 
With matchless force aside he flung 
Their boldest, — as the bull at bay 
Tosses the ban-dogs from his way. 
Through forty foes his path he made, 
And safely gained the forest glade. 



Scarce was this final conflict o'er 
When from the postern Redmond bore 
Wilfrid, who, as of life bereft. 
Had in the fatal hall been left. 
Deserted there by all his train; 
.But Redmond saw and turned again. 
Beneath an oak he laid him down 
That in the blaze gleamed ruddy brown. 
And then his mantle's clasp undid; 



Matilda held his drooping head. 
Till, given to breathe the freer air. 
Returning life repaid their care. 
He gazed on them with heavy sigh, — 
' I could have wished even thus to die ! 
No more he said, — for now with speed 
Each trooper had regained his steed ; 
The ready palfreys stood arrayed 
For Redmond and for Rokeby's maid ; 
Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain, 
One leads his charger by the rein. 
But oft Matilda looked behind, 
As up the vale of Tees they wind, 
Where far the mansion of her sires 
Beaconed the dale with midnight fires. 
In gloomy arch above them spread, 
The clouded heaven lowered bloody red ; 
Beneath in sombre light the flood 
Appeared to roll in waves of blood. 
Then one by one was heard to fall 
The tower, the donjon-keep, the hall. 
Each rushing down with thunder sound 
A space the conflagration drowned ; 
Till gathering strength again it rose, 
Announced its triumph in its close. 
Shook wide its light the landscape o'er, 
Then sunk — and Rokeby was no more ! 



Uokebg. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



The summer sun, whose early power 
Was wont to gild Matilda's bower 
And rouse her with his matin ray 
Her duteous orisons to pay. 
That morning sun has three times seen 
The flowers unfold on Rokeby green. 
But sees no more the slumbers fly 
From fair Matilda's hazel eye ; 
That morning sun has three times broke 
On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak, 
But, rising from their sylvan screen, 
Marks no gray turrets glance between. 
A shapeless mass lie keep and tower, 
That, hissing to the morning shower. 
Can but with smouldering vapor pay 
The early smile of summer day. 
The peasant, to his labor bound. 
Pauses to view the blackened mound, 
Striving amid the ruined space 
Each well-remembered spot to trace. 
That length of frail and fire-scorched wall 
Once screened the hospitable hall ; 



ROKEBY. 



■323 




When yonder broken arch was whole, 
'T was there was dealt the weekly dole ; 
And where yon tottering columns nod 
The chapel sent the hymn to God. 
So flits the world's uncertain span ! 
Nor zeal for God nor love for man 
Gives mortal monuments a date 
Beyond the power of Time and Fate. 
The towers must share the builder's doom: 
Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb: 
But better boon benignant Heaven 
To Faith and Charity has given, 
And bids the Christian hope sublime 
Transcend the bounds of Fate and Time. 



Now the third night of summer came 
Since that which .witnessed Rokeby's flame. 
On Brignall cliffs and Scargill brake 
The owlet's homilies awake. 
The bittern screamed from rush and flag, 
The raven slumbered on his crag, 
Forth from his den the otter drew, — 
Grayling and trout their tyrant knew. 



As between reed and sedge he peers. 
With fierce round snout and sharpened 

ears, 
Or prowling by the moonbeam cool 
Watches the stream or swims the pool ; — 
Perched on his wonted eyrie high. 
Sleep sealed the tercelet's wearied eye, 
That all the day had watched so well 
The cushat dart across the dell. 
In dubious beam reflected shone 
That lofty cliff of pale gray stone 
Beside whose base the secret cave 
To rapine late a refuge gave. 
The crag's wild crest of copse and yew 
On Greta's breast dark shadows threw. 
Shadows that met or shunned the sight 
With every change of fitful light. 
As hope and fear alternate chase 
Our course through life's uncertain race. 



Gliding by crag and copsewood green, 

A solitary form was seen 

To trace with stealthy pace the wold. 



324 



SCOTf'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Like fox that seeks the midnight fold, 
And pauses oft, and cowers dismayed 
At every breath that stirs the shade. 
He passes now the ivy bush, — 
The owl has seen him and is hush ; 
He passes now the doddered oak, — 
He heard the startled raven croak ; 
Lower and lower he descends, 
Rustle the leaves, the brushwood bends ; 
The otter hears him tread the shore, 
And dives and is beheld no more ; 
And by the cliff of pale gray stone 
The midnight wanderer stands alone. 
Methinks that by the moon we trace 
A well-remembered form and face ! 
That stripling shape, that cheek so pale. 
Combine to tell a rueful tale. 
Of powers misused, of passion's force, 
Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse ! 
'T is Edmund's eye at every sound 
That flings that guilty glance around; 
'T is Edmund's trembling haste divides 
The brushwood that the cavern hides ; 
And when its narrow porch lies bare 
'T is Edmund's form that enters there. 



His flmt and steel have sparkled bright, 
A lamp hath lent the cavern light. 
Fearful and quick his eye surveys 
Each angle of the gloomy maze. 
Since last he left that stern abode, 
It seemed as none its floor had trode; . 
Untouched appeared the various spoil. 
The purchase of his comrades' toil ; 
Masks and disguises grimed with mud, 
Arms broken and defiled with blood, 
And all the nameless tools that aid 
Night-felons in their lawless trade, 
Upon the gloomy walls were hung 
Or lay in nooks obscurely flung. 
Still on the sordid board appear 
The relics of the noontide cheer : 
Flagons and emptied flasks were there. 
And bench o'erthrown and shattered chair ; 
And all around the semblance showed, 
As when the final revel glowed, 
When the red sun was setting fast 
And parting pledge Guy Denzil past. 
' To Rokeby treasure-vaults ! ' they quaffed, 
And shouted loud and wildly laughed, 
Poured maddening from the rocky door, 
And parted — to return no more ! 
They found in Rokeby vaults their doom, — 
A bloody death, a burning tomb ! 



There his own peasant dress he spies. 
Doffed to assume that quaint disguise, 



And shuddering thought upon his glee 

When pranked in garb of minstrelsy. 

' O, be the fatal art accurst,' 

He cried, ' that moved my folly first, 

Till, bribed by bandits' base applause, 

I burst through God's and Nature's laws ! 

Three summer days are scantly past 

Since I have trod this cavern last, 

A thoughtless wretch, and prompt to err — 

But O, as yet no murderer ! 

Even now I list my comrades' cheer. 

That general laugh is in mine ear 

Which raised my pulse and steeled my heart, 

As I rehearsed my treacherous part — 

And would that all since then could seem 

The phantom of a fever's dream ! 

But fatal memory notes too well 

The horrors of the dying yell 

From my despairing mates that broke 

When flashed the fire and rolled the smoke, 

When the avengers shouting came 

And hemmed us 'twixt the sword and flame ! 

My frantic flight — the lifted brand — 

That angel's interposing hand ! — 

If for my life from slaughter freed 

I yet could pay some grateful meed ! 

Perchance this object of my c^uest 

May aid ' — he turned nor spoke the rest. 



Due northward from the rugged hearth 

With paces five he meets the earth, 

Then toiled with mattock to explore 

The entrails of the cavern floor. 

Nor paused till deep beneath the ground 

His search a small steel casket found. 

Just as he stooped to loose its hasp 

His shoulder felt a giant grasp ; 

He started and looked up aghast, 

Then shrieked ! — 'T was Bertram held him 

fast. 
' Fear not ! ' he said ; but who could hear 
That deep stern voice and cease to fear ? 
' Fear not ! — By heaven, he shakes as much 
As partridge in the falcon's clutch : ' 
He raised him and unloosed his hold. 
While from the opening casket rolled 
A chain and reliquaire of gold. 
Bertram beheld it with surprise. 
Gazed on its fashion and device. 
Then, cheering Edmund as he could. 
Somewhat he smoothed his rugged mood, 
For still the youth's half-lifted eye 
Quivered with terror's agony. 
And sidelong glanced as to explore 
In meditated flight the door. 
' Sit,' Bertram said, ' from danger free : 
Thou canst not and thou shalt not flee. 
Chance brings me hither ; hill and plain 
I 've sought for refuge-place in vain. 



ROKEBY. 



325 



And tell me now, thou aguish boy, 

What makest thou here ? what means this 

toy? 
Denzil and thou, I marked, were ta'en ; 
What lucky chance unbound your chain ? 
I deemed, long since on Baliol's tower, 
Your heads were warped with sun and 

shower. 
Tell me the whole — and mark ! naught e'er 
Chafes me like falsehood or like fear.' 
Gathering his courage to his aid 
But trembling still, the youth obeyed. 



' Denzil and I two nights passed o'er 

In fetters on the dungeon floor. 

A guest the third sad morrow brought ; 

Our hold, dark Oswald Wy cliff e sought, 

And eyed my comrade long askance 

With fixed and penetrating glance. 

"Guy Denzil art thou called?" — "The 

same." 
" At Court who served wild Buckinghame : 
Thence banished, won a keeper's place. 
So Villiers willed, in Marwood-chase ; 
That lost — I need not tell thee why — 
Thou madest thy wit thy wants supply, 
Then fought for Rokeby: — have I guessed 
My prisoner right ? " — " At thy behest." — 
He paused awhile, and then went on 
With low and confidential tone ; — 
Me, as I judge, not then he saw 
Close nestled in my couch of straw. — 
" List to me, Guy. Thou know'st the great 
Have frequent need of what they hate ; 
Hence, in their favor oft we see 
Unscrupled, useful men like thee. 
Were I disposed to bid thee live. 
What pledge of faith hast thou to give ? " 



' The ready fiend who never yet 
Hath failed to sharpen Denzil's wit 
Prompted his lie — " His only child 
Should rest his pledge." — The baronsmiled, 
And turned to me — " Thou art his son ? " 
I bowed — our fetters were undone, 
And we were led to hear apart 
A dreadful lesson of his art. 
Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son, 
Had fair Matilda's favor won ; 
And long since had their union been 
But for her father's bigot spleen, 
Whose brute and blindfold party-rage 
Would, force perforce, her hand engage 
To a base kern of Irish earth. 
Unknown his lineage and his birth, 
Save that a dying ruffian bore 
The infant brat to Rokeby door. 



Gentle restraint, he said, would lead 
Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed ; 
But fair occasion he must find 
For such restraint well meant and kind. 
The knight being rendered to his charge 
But as a prisoner at large. 



• He schooled us in a well-forged tale 

Of scheme the castle walls to scale, 

To which was leagued each Cavalier 

That dwells upon the Tyne and Wear, 

That Rokeby, his parole forgot, 

Had dealt with us to aid the plot. 

Such was the charge which Denzil's zeal 

Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale 

Proffered as witness to make good. 

Even though the forfeit were their blood. 

I scrupled until o'er and o'er 

His prisoners' safety Wycliffe swore; 

And then — alas ! what needs there more ? 

I knew I should not live to say 

The proffer I refused that day ; 

Ashamed to live, yet loath to die, 

I soiled me with their infamy ! ' 

' Poor youth ! ' said Bertram, ' wavering still, 

Unfit alike for good or ill ! 

But what fell next ? ' — ' Soon as at large 

Was scrolled and signed our fatal charge, 

There never yet on tragic stage 

Was seen so well a painted rage 

As Oswald's showed ! With loud alarm 

He called his garrison to arm : 

From tower to tower, from post to post, 

He hurried as if all were lost ; 

Consigned to dungeon and to chain 

The good old knight and all his train ; 

Warned each suspected Cavalier 

Within his limits to appear 

To-morrow at the hour of noon 

In the high church of Eglistone.' — 



' Of Eglistone ! — Even now I passed," 
Said Bertram, ' as the night closed fast ; 
Torches and cressets gleamed around, 
I heard the saw and hammer sound, 
And I could mark they toiled to raise 
A scaffold, hung with sable baize. 
Which the grim headsman's scene displayed, 
Block, axe, and sawdust' ready laid. 
Some evil deed will there be done 
Unless Matilda wed his son ; — 
She loves him not — 'tis shrewdly guessed 
That Redmond rules the damsel's breast. 
This is a turn of Oswal/1's skill ; 
But I may meet, and foil him still ! — 
How camest thou to thy freedom ? ' — ' There 
Lies mystery more dark and rare. 



326 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



In midst of Wycliffe's well-feigned rage, 

A scroll was offered by a page, 

Who told a muffled horseman late 

Had left it at the Castle-gate. 

He broke the seal — his cheek showed 

change. 
Sudden, portentous, wild, and strange ; 
The mimic passion of his eye 
Was turned to actual agony ; 
His hand like summer sapling shook, 
Terror and guilt were in his look. 
Uenzil he judged in time of need 
Fit counsellor for evil deed; 
And thus apart his counsel broke. 
While with a ghastly smile he spoke: 



' " As in the pageants of the stage 

The dead awake in this wild age, 

Mortham — whom all men deemed decreed 

In his own deadly snare to bleed, 

Slain by a bravo whom o'er sea 

He trained to aid in murdering me, — 

Mortham has "scaped ! The coward shot 

The steed but harmed the rider not." ' 

Here with an execration fell 

Bertram leaped up and paced the cell : — 

'Thine own gray head or bosom dark,' 

He muttered, ' may be surer mark ! ' 

Then sat and signed to Edmund, pale 

With terror, to resume his tale. 

' Wycliffe went on: — "Mark with what 

flights 
Of wildered reverie he writes : — 

W(]t ILcttcr. 

' " Ruler of Mortham's destiny ! 

Though dead, thy victim lives to thee. 

Once had he all that binds to life, 

A lovely child, a lovelier wife ; 

Wealth, fame, and friendship were his 

own — 
Thou gavest the word and they are flown. 
Mark how he pays thee : to thy hand 
He yields his honors and his land. 
One boon premised ; — restore his child ! 
And, from his native land exiled, 
Mortham no more returns to claim 
His lands, his honors, or his name ; 
Refuse him this and from the slain 
Thou shalt see Mortham rise again." — 



' This billet while the baron read, 
His faltering accents showed his dread ; 
He pressed his forehead with his palm. 
Then took a scornful tone and calm ; 
" Wild as the winds, as billows wild ! 



What wot I of his spouse or child ? 
Hither he brought a joyous dame. 
Unknown her lineage or her name : 
Her in some frantic fit he slew ; 
The nurse and child in fear withdrew. 
Heaven be my witness, wist I where 
To find this youth, my kinsman's heir, 
Unguerdoned I would give with joy 
The father's arms to fold his boy. 
And Mortham's lands and towers resign 
To the just heirs cf Mortham's line." 
Thou know'st that scarcely e'en his fear 
Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer; — 
" Then happy is thy vassal's part," 
He said, " to ease his patron's heart ! 
In thine own jailer's watchful care 
Lies Mortham's just and rightful heir ; 
Thy generous wish is fully won, — 
Redmond O'Neale is Mortham's son." — 



' Up starting with a frenzied look, 

His clenched hand the baron shook : 

'• Is Hell at work .'' or dost thou rave, 

Or darest thou palter with me, slave ! 

Perchance thou wot'st not. Barnard's towers 

Have racks of strange and ghastly powers." 

Denzil, who well his safety knew, 

Firmly rejoined, " I tell thee true. 

Thy racks could give thee but to know 

The proofs which I, untortured, show. 

It chanced upon a winter night 

When early snow made Stanmore white, 

That very night when first of all 

Redmond O'Neale saw Rokeby-hall, 

It was my goodly lot to gain 

A reliquary and a chain. 

Twisted and chased of massive gold. 

Demand not how the prize I hold! 

It was not given nor lent nor sold. 

Gilt tablets to the chain were hung 

With letters in the Irish tongue. 

I hid my spoil, for there was need 

That I should leave the land with speed, 

Nor then I deemed it safe to bear 

On mine own person gems so rare. 

Small heed I of the tablets took, 

But since have spelled them by the book 

When some sojourn in Erin's land 

Of their wild speech had given command. 

But darkling was the sense ; the phrase 

And language those of other days, 

Involved of purpose, as to foil 

An interloper's prying toil. 

The words but not the sense I knew, 

Till fortune gave the guiding clue. 

XIV. 

' " Three days since, was that clue revealed 
In Thorsgill as I lay concealed. 



ROKEBY. 



327 



And heard at full when Rokeby's maid 
Her uncle's history displayed ; 
And now I can interpret well 
Each syllable the tablets tell. 
Mark, then : fair Edith was the joy 
Of old O'Neale of Clandeboy ; 
But from her sire and country fled 
In secret Mortham's lord to wed. 
O'Neale, his first resentment o'er, 
Despatched his son to Greta's shore, 
Enjoining he should make him known — 
Until his farther will were shown — 
To Edith, but to her alone. 
What of their ill-starred meeting fell 
Lord Wycliffe knows, and none so well. 



'"O'Neale it was who in despair 
Robbed Mortham of his infant heir ; 
He bred him in their nurture wild. 
And called him murdered Connel's child. 
Soon died the nurse ; the clan believed 
What from their chieftain they received. 
His purpose was that ne'er again 
The boy should cross the Irish main, 
But, like his mountain sires, enjoy 
The woods and wastes of Clandeboy. 
Then on the land wild troubles came. 
And stronger chieftains urged a claim, 
And wrested from the old man's hands 
His native towers, his father's lands. 
Unable then amid the strife 
To guard young Redmond's rights or life. 
Late and reluctant he restores 
The infant to his native shores. 
With goodly gifts and letters stored, 
With many a deep conjuring word. 
To Mortham and to Rokeby's lord. 
Naught knew the clod of Irish earth. 
Who was the guide, of Redmond's birth, 
But deemed his chief's commands were 

laid 
On both, by both to be obeyed. 
How he was wounded by the way 
I need not, and I list not say." — 



'" A wondrous tale ! and, grant it true. 
What," Wycliffe answered, " might I do ? 
Heaven knows, as willingly as now 
I raise the bonnet from my brow. 
Would I my kinsman's manors fair 
Restore to Mortham or his heir ; 
But Mortham is distraught — O'Neale 
Has drawn for tyranny his steel. 
Malignant to our rightful cause 
And trained in Rome's delusive laws. 
Hark thee apart! " They w-hispered long. 
Till Denzil's voice grew bold and strong: 



" My proofs ! I never will.'" he said, 
" Show mortal man where they are laid. 
Nor hope discovery to foreclose 
By giving me to feed the crows : 
For I have mates at large who know 
Where I am wont such toys to stow. 
Free me from peril and from band. 
These tablets are at thy command ; 
Nor were it hard to form some train, 
To wile old Mortham o'er the main. 
Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand 
Should wrest from thine the goodly land." 
" I like thy wit," said Wycliffe, " well ; 
But here in hostage shalt thou dwell. 
Thy son, unless my purpose err, 
May i^rove the trustier messenger. 
A scroll to Mortham shall he bear 
From me, and fetch these tokens rare. 
Gold shalt thou have, and that good store. 
And freedom, his commission o'er ; 
But if his faith should chance to fail. 
The gibbet frees thee from the jail." 



' Meshed in the net himself had twined, 

What subterfuge could Denzil find .? 

He told me with reluctant sigh 

That hidden here the tokens lie. 

Conjured my swift return and aid. 

By all he scoffed and disobeyed, 

And looked as if the noose were tied 

And I the priest who left his side. 

This scroll for Mortham Wycliffe gave. 

Whom I must seek by Greta's wave. 

Or in the hut where chief he hides. 

Where Thorsgill's forester resides. — 

Thence chanced it, wandering in the glade, 

That he descried our ambuscade. — 

I was dismissed as evening fell. 

And reached but now this rocky cell.' 

'Give Oswald's letter.' — Bertram read, 

And tore it fiercely shred by shred : — 

'AH lies and villany ! to blind 

His noble kinsman's generous mind, 

And train him on from day to day, 

Till he can take his life away. — 

And now, declare thy purpose, youth. 

Nor dare to answer, save the truth ; 

If aught I mark of Denzil's art, 

I'll tear the secret from thy heart ! ' — 

XVIII. 

' It needs not. I renounce,' he said, 
' My tutor and his deadly trade. 
Fixed was my purpose to declare ' 
To Mortham, Redmond is his heir: 
To tell him in what risk he stands. 
And yield these tokens to his hands. 
Fixed was my purpose to atone. 
Far as I may, the evil done ; 



328 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And fixed it rests — if I survive 

This night, and leave this cave alive.' — ■ 

' And Denzil ? ' ^ — ■' Let them ply the rack. 

Even till his joints and sinews crack ! 

If Oswald tear him limb from limb, 

What ruth can Denzil claim from him 

Whose thoughtless youth he led astray 

And damned to this unhallowed way? 

He schooled me, faith and vows were vain; 

Now let my master reap his gain.' — • 

' True,' answered Bertram, ' 't is his meed ; 

There 's retribution in the deed. 

But thou — thou art not for our course, 

Hast fear, hast pity, hast remorse ; 

And he with us the gale who braves 

Must heave such cargo to the waves. 

Or lag with overloaded prore 

While barks unburdened reach the shore.' 



He paused and, stretching him at length. 
Seemed to repose his bulky strength. 
Communing with his secret mind. 
As half he sat and half reclined. 
One ample hand his forehead pressed. 
And one was dropped across his breast. 
The shaggy eyebrows deeper came 
Above his eyes of swarthy flame ; 
His lip of pride awhile forbore 
The haughty curve till then it wore ; 
The unaltered fierceness of his look 
A shade of darkened sadness took, — 
For dark and sad a presage pressed 
Resistlessly on Bertram's breast, — 
And when he spoke, his wonted tone. 
So fierce, abrupt, and brief, was gone. 
Mis voice was steady, low, and deep. 
Like distant waves when breezes sleep ; 
And sorrow mixed with Edmund's fear, 
Its low unbroken depth to hear. 



' Edmund, in thy sad tale I find 
The woe that warped my patron's mind : 
'T would wake the fountains of the eye 
'In other men, but mine are dry. 
Mortham must never see the fool 
That sold himself base Wycliffe's tool, 
Yet less from thirst of sordid gain 
Than to avenge supposed disdain. 
Say Bertram rues his fault — a word 
Till now from Bertram never heard : 
Say, too, that Mortham's lord he prays 
To think but on their former days ; 
On Quarianna's beach and rock, 
On Cayo's bursting battle-shock. 
On Darien's sands and deadly dew, 
And on the dart Tlatzeca threw ; -- 
Perchance my patron yet may hear 



More that may grace his comrade's bier. 

My soul hath felt a secret weight, 

A warning of approaching fate : 

A priest had said, " Return, repent ! "' 

As well to bid that rock be rent. 

Firm as that flint I face mine end ; 

My heart may burst but cannot bend. 



' The dawning of my youth with awe 
And prophecy the Dalesmen saw ; 
For over Redesdale it came, 
As bodeful as their beacon-flame. 
Edmund, thy years were scarcely mine 
When, challenging the Clans of Tyne 
To bring their best my brand to prove. 
O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove : 
But Tynedale, nor in tower nor town. 
Held champion meet to take it down. 
My noontide India may declare ; 
Like her fierce sun, I fired the air ! 
Like him, to wood and cave bade fly 
Her natives from mine angry eye. 
Panama's maids shall long look pale 
When Risingham inspires the tale : 
Chili's dark matrons long shall tame 
The froward child with Bertram's name. 
And now, my race of terror run, 
Mine be the eve of tropic sun ! 
No pale gradations quench his ray. 
No twilight dews his wrath allay ; 
With disk like battle-target red 
He rushes to his burning bed. 
Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, 
Then sinks at once — and all is night. — 



' Now to thy mission, Edmund. Fly, 
Seek Mortham out, and bid him hie 
To Richmond where his troops are laid. 
And lead his force to Redmond's aid. 
Say till he reaches Eglistone 
A friend will watch to guard his son. 
Now, fare-thee-well ; for night draws on. 
And I would rest me here alone.' 
Despite his ill-dissembled fear, 
There swam in Edmund's eye a tear : 
A tribute to the courage high 
Which stooped not in extremity, 
But strove, irregularly great. 
To triumph o'er approaching fate I 
Bertram beheld the dewdrop start. 
It almost touched his iron heart : 
' I did not think there lived,' he said, 
'One who would tear for Bertram shed." 
He loosened then his baldric's hold, 
A buckle broad of massive gold; — 
' Of all the spoil that paid his pains 
But this with Risingham remains ; 



ROKEBY. 



329 



And this, dear Edmund, thou shalt take, 
And wear it long for Bertram's sake. 
Once more — to Mortham speed amain ; 
Farewell ! and turn thee not again.' 



The night has yielded to the morn, 
And far the hours of prime are worn. 
Oswald, who since the dawn of day 
Had cursed his messenger's delay, 
Impatient questioned now his train, 



' Alas, my lord ! full ill to-day 

May my young master brook the way ! 

The leech has spoke with grave alarm 

Of unseen hurt, of secret harm, 

Of sorrow lurking at the heart. 

That mars and lets his healing art.' 

' Tush ! tell not me ! — Romantic boys 

Pine themselves sick for airy toys, 

I will find cure for Wilfrid soon ; 

Bid him for Eglistone be boune, 

And quick ! — I hear the dull death-drum 




' Was Denzil's son returned again .^ ' 

It chanced there answered of the crew 

A menial who young Edmund knew : 

' No son of Denzil this,' he said ; 

' A peasant boy from Winston glade, 

For song and minstrelsy renowned 

And knavish pranks the hamlets round.' 

' Not Denzil's son ! — from Winston vale ! ^ 

Then it was false, that specious tale ; 

Or worse — he hath despatched the youth 

To show to Mortham 's lord its truth. 

Fool that I was ! — but 't is too late ; — 

This is the very turn of fate ! — 

The tale, or true or false, relies 

On Denzil's evidence ! — He dies ! — 

Ho ! Provost Marshal ! instantly 

Lead Denzil to the gallows-tree ! 

Allow him not a parting word ; 

Short be the shrift and sure the cord ! 

Then let his gory head appall 

Marauders from the castle-wall. 

Lead forth thy guard, that duty done, 

With best despatch to Eglistone. — 

Basil, tell Wilfrid he must straight 

Attend me at the castle-gate.' 



' Alas ! ' the old domestic said. 
And shook his venerable head. 



Tell Denzil's hour of fate is come.' 
He paused with scornful smile, and then 
Resumed his train of thought agen. 
' Now comes my fortune's crisis near ! 
Entreaty boots not — instant fear. 
Naught else, can bend Matilda's pride 
Or win her to be Wilfrid's bride. 
But when she sees the scaffold placed, 
With axe and block and headsman graced. 
And when she deems that to deny 
Dooms Redmond and her sire to die. 
She must give way. — Then, were the line 
Of Rokeby once combined with mine, 
I gain the weather-gage of fate ! 
If Mortham come, he comes too late. 
While I, allied thus and prepared, 
Bid him defiance to his beard. — 
If she prove stubborn, shall I dare 
To drop the axe ? — Soft ! pause we there. 
Mortham still lives — yon youth may tell 
His tale — and Fairfax loves him well ; — 
Else, wherefore should I now delay 
To sweep this Redmond from my way? — 
But she to piety perforce 
Must yield. — Without there ! Sound to 
horse ! ' 



'T was bustle in the court below, — 

' Mount, and march forward ! ' Forth they go : 



;3o 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Steeds neigh and trample all around, 
Steel rings, spears glimmer, trumpets 

sound. — 
Just then was sung his parting hymn ; 
And Denzil turned his eyeballs dim, 
And, scarcely conscious what he sees. 
Follows the horsemen down the Tees ; 
And scarcely conscious what he hears, 
The trumpets tingle in his ears. 
O'er the long bridge they 're sweeping now, 
The van is hid by greenwood bough : 
But ere the rearward had passed o'er 
Guy Denzil heard and saw no more ! 
One stroke, upon the castle bell 
To Oswald rung his dying knell. 



O, for that pencil, erst profuse 
OiE chivalry's emblazoned hues. 
That traced of old in Woodstock bower 
The pageant of the Leaf and Flower, 
And bodied forth the tourney high 
Held for the hand of Emily ! 
Then might I paint the tumult broad 
That to the crowded abbey flowed, 
And poured, as with an ocean's sound. 
Into the church's ample bound ! 
Then might 1 show each varying mien, 
Exulting, woful, or serene ; 
Indifference, with his idiot stare, 
And Sympathy, with anxious air ; 
Paint the dejected Cavalier, 
Doubtful, disarmed, and sad of cheer ; 
And his proud foe, whose formal eye 
Claimed conquest no\y and mastery; 
And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal 
Huzzas each turn of Fortune's wheel, 
And loudest shouts when lowest lie 
Exalted worth and station high. 
Yet what may such a wish avail ? 
'T is mine to tell an onward tale, 
Hurrying, as best I can, along 
The hearers and the hasty song ; — 
Like traveller when approaching home. 
Who sees the shades of evening come, 
And must not now his course delay, 
Or choose the fair but winding way ; 
Nay, scarcely may his pace suspend. 
Where o'er his head the wildings bend, 
To bless the breeze that cools his brow 
Or snatch a blossom from the bough. 



The reverend pile lay wild and waste, 
Profaned, dishonored, and defaced. 
Through storied lattices no more 
In softened light the sunbeams pour, 
(iilding the Gothic sculpture rich 
Of shrine and monument and niche. 



The civil fury of the time 

Made sport of sacrilegious crime ; 

For dark fanaticism rent 

Altar and screen and ornament. 

And peasant hands the tombs o'erthrew 

Of Bowes, of Rokeby, and Fitz-Hugh. 

And now was seen, unwonted sight. 

In holy walls a scaffold dight ! 

Where once the priest of grace divine 

Dealt to his flock the mystic sign. 

There stood the block displayed, and there 

The headsman grim his hatchet bare. 

And for the word of hope and faith 

Resounded loud a doom of death. 

Thrice the fierce trumpet's breath was 

heard. 
And echoed thrice the herald's word, 
Dooming, for breach of martial laws 
And treason to the Commons' cause, * 
The Knight of Rokeby, and O'Neale, 
To stoop their heads to block and steel. 
The trumpets flourished high and shrill. 
Then was a silence dead and still ; 
And silent prayers to Heaven were cast. 
And stifled sobs were bursting fast, 
Till from the crowd begun to rise 
Murmurs of sorrow or surprise. 
And from the distant isles there came 
Deep-muttered threats with Wycliffe's 

name. 

XXVIII. 

But Oswald, guarded by his band. 

Powerful in evil, waved his hand. 

And bade sedition's voice be dead, 

On peril of the murmurer's head. 

Then first his glance sought Rokeby 's 

Knight, 
Who gazed on the tremendous sight 
As calm as if he came a guest 
To kindred baron's feudal feast, 
As calm as if that trumpet-call 
Were summons to the bannered hall : 
Firm in his loyalty he stood, 
And prompt to seal it with his blood. 
With downcast look drew Oswald nigh, — 
He durst not cope with Rokeby's eye ! — 
And said with low and faltering breath, 
' Thou know'st the terms of life and 

death.' 
The knight then turned and sternly smiled ■; 
'The maiden is mine only child. 
Yet shall my blessing leave her head 
If with a traitor's son she wed.' 
Then Redmond spoke : ' The life of one 
Might thy malignity atone, 
On me be flung a double guilt ! 
Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be spilt ! ' 
Wycliffe had listened to his suit. 
But dread prevailed and he was mute. 



ROKEBY. 



331 



And now he pours his choice of fear 
In secret on Matilda's ear; 
' An union formed with me and mine 
Ensures the faith of Rokeby's line. 
Consent, and all this dread array- 
Like morning dream shall pass away : 
Refuse, and by my duty pressed 
I give the word — thou know'st the rest.' 
Matilda, still and motionless. 
With terror heard the dread address, 
Pale as the sheeted maid who dies 
To hopeless love a sacrifice ; 
Then wrung her hands in agony, 
And round her cast bewildered eye, 
Now on the scaffold glanced, and now 
On Wycliffe's unrelenting brow. 
She veiled her face, and with a voice 
Scarce audible, ' I make my choice ! 
Spare but their lives ! — for aught beside 
Let Wilfrid's doom my fate decide. 
He once was generous ! ' As she spoke, 
Dark Wycliffe's joy in triumph broke : 
'Wilfrid, where loitered ye so late ? 
Why upon Basil rest thy weight .^ — 
Art spell-bound by enchanter's wand ? — 
Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded hand ; 
Thank her with raptures, simple boy ! 
Should tears and trembling speak thy joy ? ' 
' O hush, my sire ! To prayer and tear 
Of mine thou hast refused thine ear ; 
But now the awful hour draws on 
When truth must speak in loftier tone.' 

XXX. 

He took Matilda's hand: ' Dear maid, 

Couldst thou so injure me,' he said, 

' Of thy poor friend so basely deem 

As blend with him this barbarous scheme ? 

Alas ! my efforts made in vain 

Might well have saved this added pain. 

But now, bear witness earth and heaven 

That ne'er was hope to mortal given 

So twisted with the strings of life 

As this — to call Matilda wife ! 

I bid it now forever part, 

And with the effort bursts my heart.' 

His feeble frame was worn so low. 

With wounds, with watching, and with woe 

That nature could no more sustain 

The agony of mental pain. 

He kneeled — his lip her hand had pressed, 

Just then he felt the stern arrest. 

Lower and lower sunk his head, — 

They raised him, — but the life was fled ! 

Then first alarmed his sire and train 

Tried every aid, but tried in vain. 

The soul, too soft its ills to bear, 

Had left our mortal hemisphere. 



And sought in better world the meed 
To blameless life by Heaven decreed. 



The wretched sire beheld aghast 

With Wilfrid all his projects past, 

All turned and centred on his son. 

On Wilfrid all — and he was gone. 

'And I am childless now,' he said; 

' Childless, through that relentless maid ! 

A lifetime's arts in vain essayed 

Are bursting on their artist's head ! 

Here lies my Wilfrid dead — and there 

Comes hated Mortham for his heir, 

Eager to knit in happy band 

With Rokeby's heiress Redmond's hand. 

And shall their triumph soar o'er all 

The schemes deep-laid to work their fall t 

No! — deeds which prudence might not 

dare 
Appall not vengeance and despair. 
The murderess weeps upon his bier — 
I '11 change to real that feigned tear ! 
They all shall share destruction's shock : — 
Ho ! lead the captives to the block ! ' 
But ill his provost could divine 
His'feelings, and forbore the sign. 
' Slave ! to the block ! — or I or they 
Shall face the judgment-seat this day ! ' 



The outmost crowd have heard a sound 
Like horse's hoof on hardened ground ; 
Nearer it came, and yet more near, — 
The very death's-men paused to hear. 
'T is in the churchyard now — the tread 
Hath waked the dwelling of the dead ! 
Fresh sod and old sepulchral stone 
Return the tramp in varied tone. 
All eyes upon the gateway hung, 
When through the Gothic arch there sprung 
A horseman armed at headlong speed — 
Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed. 
Fire from the flinty floor was spurned, 
The vaults unwonted clang returned ! — 
One instant's glance around he threw, 
From saddlebow his pistol drew. 
Grimly determined was his look ! 
His charger with the spurs he strook — 
All scattered backward as he came. 
For all knew Bertram Risingham ! 
Three bounds that noble courser gave ; 
The first has reached the central nave, 
The second cleared the chancel wide, 
The third — he was at Wycliffe's side. 
Full levelled at the baron's head. 
Rung the report — the bullet sped — 
And to his long account and last 
Without a groan dark Oswald past ! 



332 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



All was so quick that it might seem 
A flash of lightning or a dream. 

XXXIII. 

While yet the smoke the deed conceals, 
Bertram his ready charger wheels; 
But floundered on the pavement-floor 
The steed and down the rider bore, 



'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears. 
Thrice from assailants shook him free, 
Once gained his feet and twice his knee. 
By tenfold odds oppressed at length, 
Despite his struggles and his strength. 
He took a hundred mortal wounds 
As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hounds : 
And when he died his parting groan 




And, bursting in the headlong sway, 
The faithless saddle-girths gave way. 
'T was while he toiled him to be freed. 
And with the rein to raise the steed. 
That from amazement's iron trance 
All Wycliffe's soldiers waked at once. 
.Sword, halberd, musket-butt, their blows 
Hailed upon Bertram as he rose ; 
A score of pikes with each a wound 
Bore down and pinned him to the ground ; 
But still his struggling force he rears, 



Had more of lauglitcr than of moan I 
They gazed as when a lion dies, 
And hunters scarcely trust their eyes. 
But bend their weapons on the slain 
Lest the grim king should rouse again ! 
Then blow and insult some renewed. 
And from the trunk tlie head had hewed. 
But Basil's voice the deed forbade ; 
A mantle o'er the corse he laid : — 
' F\^ll as he was in act and mind. 
He left no bolder heart behind : 



ROKEBY. 



333 



Then give him, for a soldier meet, 
A soldier's cloak for winding: sheet.' 



No more of death and dying pang. 
No more of trump and bugle clang. 
Though through the sounding woods there 

come 
Banner and bugle, trump and drum. 
Armed with such powers as well had freed 
Young Redmond at his utmost need. 
And backed with such a band of horse 
As might less ample powers enforce. 
Possessed of every proof and sign 
That gave an heir to Mortham's line, 
And yielded to a father's arms 
An image of his Edith's charms, — 
Mortham is come, to hear and see 
Of this strange morn the history. 
What saw he.'' — not the church's floor, 
Cumbered with dead and stained with gore ; 
What heard he ? — not the clamorous crowd, 
That shout their gratulations loud : 
Redmond he saw and heard alone. 
Clasped him and sobbed, 'My son ! my 

son! ' 



This chanced upon a summer morn, 
When yellow waved the heavy corn : 
But when brown August o'er the land 
Called forth the reaper's busy band, 
A gladsome sight the sylvan road 
From Eglistone to Mortham showed. 
Awhile the hardy rustic leaves 
The task to bind and pile the sheaves, 
And maids their sickles fling aside 
To gaze on bridegroom and on bride. 
And childhood's wondering group draws 

near. 
And from the gleaner's hands the ear 
Drops while she folds them for a prayer 
And blessing on the lovely pair. 
'Twas then the Maid of Rokeby gave 
Her plighted troth to Redmond brave ; 
And Teesdale can remember yet 
How Fate to Virtue paid her debt, 
And for their troubles bade them prove 
A lengthened hfe of peace and love. 

Time and Tide had thus their sway. 
Yielding, like an April day. 
Smiling noon for sullen morrow, 
Years of joy for hours of sorrow ! 









AlJiJl-.-gSJI 



^HE BRIDAh 



OF #S^ 






tribrMrin 



r^. 



> 




C|)e Brilial of Crtermain: 



OR, 



THE VALE OF SAINT JOHN 



A LOVER'S TALE. 



STfje BritJal of STriermafn. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Come, Lucy! while 'tis morning hour 

The woodland brook we needs must pass ; 
So ere the sun assume his power 
We shelter in our poplar bower, 
Where dew lies long upon the flower, 

Though vanished from the velvet grass. 
Curbing the stream, this stony ridge 
May serve us for a sylvan bridge ; 

For here compelled to disunite, 

Round petty isles the runnels glide. 
And chafing off their puny spite, 
The shallow murmurers waste their might. 

Yielding to footstep free and light 
A dry-shod pass from side to side. 



II. 

Nay, why this hesitating pause ? 
And, Lucy, as thy step withdraws, 



Why sidelong eye the streamlet's brim ? 

Titania's foot without a slip. 
Like thine, though timid, light, and slim. 

From stone to stone might safely trip, 

Nor risk the glow-worm clasp to dip 
That binds her slipper's silken rim. 
Or trust thy lover's strength ; nor fear 

That this same stalwart arm of mine. 
Which could yon oak's prone trunk uprear. 
Shall shrink beneath the burden dear 

Of form so slender, light, and fine. ■ — 
So — now, the danger dared at last, 
Look back and smile at perils past ! 

in. 

And now we reach the favorite glade. 

Paled in by copsewood, cliff, and stone. 
Where never harsher sounds invade 

To break affection's whispering tone 
Than the deep breeze that waves the shade.^ 

Than the small brooklet's feeble moan. 
Come ! rest thee on thy wonted seat ; 

Mossed is the stone, the turf is green, 
A place where lovers best may meet 

Who would not that their love be seen. 



338 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The boughs that dim the summer sky 
Shall hide us from each lurking spy 

That fain would spread the invidious tale, 
How Lucy of the lofty eye, 
Noble in birth, in fortunes high. 
She for whom lords and barons sigh. 

Meets her poor Arthur in the dale. 



How deep that blush ! — how deep that sigh ! 
And why does Lucy shun mine eye ? 
Is it because that crimson draws 
Its color from some secret cause, 
Some hidden movement of the breast. 
She would not that her Arthur guessed ? 
O, quicker far is lovers' ken 
Than the dull glance of common men, 
And by strange sympathy can spell 
The thoughts the loved one will not tell! 
And mine in Lucy's blush saw met 
The hue of pleasure and regret ; 
Pride mingled in the sigh her voice. 

And shared with Love the crimson glow, 
Well pleased that thou art Arthur's choice, 
Yet shamed thine own is placed so low : 
Thou turn'st thy self-confessing cheek, 

As if to meet the breezes cooling; 
Then, Lucy, hear thy tutor speak. 

For Love too has his hours of school- 
ing. 



Too oft my anxious eye has spied 
That secret grief thou fain wouldst hide, 
The passing pang of humbled pride ; 
Too oft when through the splendid hall. 

The loadstar of each heart and eye, 
My fair one leads the glittering ball. 
Will her stolen glance on Arthur fall 

With such a blusli and such a sigh ! 
Thou wouldst not yield for wealth or rank 

The heart thy worth and beauty won. 
Nor leave me on this mossy bank 

To meet a rival on a throne : 
Why then should vain repinings rise. 
That to thy lover fate denies 
A nobler name, a wide domain, 
A baron's birth, a menial train. 



Since Heaven assigned him for his part 
A lyre, a falchion, and a heart '^ 



My sword — its master must be dumb ; 
But when a soldier names my name, 

Approach, my Lucy ! fearless come. 
Nor dread to hear of Arthur's shame. 

My heart — mid all yon courtly crew 
Of lordly rank and lofty line. 

Is there to love and honor true. 

That boasts a pulse so warm as mine .'' 
They praised thy diamonds' lustre rare — 

Matched with thine eyes, I thought it faded; 
They praised the pearls that bound thy hair — 

I only saw the locks they braided; 
They talked of wealthy dower and land, 

And titles of high birth the token — 
I thought of Lucy's heart and hand. 

Nor knew the sense of what was spoken. 
And yet, if ranked in Fortune's roll, 

I might have learned their choice unwise 
Who rate the dower above the soul 

And Lucy's diamonds o'er her eyes. 

VII. 

My lyre — it is an idle toy 

That borrows accents not its own. 
Like warbler of Colombian sky 

That sings but in a mimic tone. 
Ne'er did it sound o'er sainted well. 
Nor boasts it aught of Border spell ; 
Its strings no feudal slogan pour, 
Its heroes draw no broad claymore ; 
No shouting clans applauses raise 
Because it sung their fathers' praise; 
On Scottish moor, or English down. 
It ne'er was graced with fair renown ; 
Nor won — 'best meed to minstrel true — 
One favoring smile from fair Buccleuch ! 
By one poor streamlet sounds its tone. 
And heard bv one dear maid alone. 



But, if thou bid'st, these tones shall tell 

Of errant knight, and damoselle ; 

Of the dread knot a wizard tied 

In punishment of maiden's pride. 

In notes of marvel and of fear 

That best may charm romantic ear. 



For Lucy loves — like Collins, ill-starred name ! 
Whose lay's requital was that tardy Fame, 
Who bound no laurel round his living head. 
Should hang it o'er his monument when dead, — 
For Lucy loves to tread enchanted strand. 
And thread like him the maze of Fairy-land ; 
Of golden battlements to view the gleam. 
And slumber soft by some Elysian stream ; 
Such lays she loves — and, such my Lucy's choice. 
What other sone can claim her Poet's voice ? 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



339 




Cj^e Britial of STrfcrmain. 



CANTO FIRST. 



Where is the maiden of mortal strain 
That may match with the Baron of Trier- 
main ? 
She must be lovely and constant and kind, 
Holy and pure and humble of mind, 
Blithe of cheer and gentle of mood, 
Courteous and generous and noble of 

blood — 
Lovely as the sun's first ray 
When it breaks the clouds of an April day ; 
Constant and true as the w^idowed dove. 
Kind as a minstrel that sings of love ; 
Pure as the fountain in rocky cave 
Where never sunbeam, kissed the wave; 
Humble as maiden that loves in vain. 
Holy as hermit's vesper strain ; 
Gentle as breeze that but whispers and dies, 
Yet blithe as the light leaves that dance in 

its sighs ; 
Courteous as monarch the morn he is 

crowned, 
Generous as spring-dews that bless the 

glad ground ; 
Noble her blood as the currents that met 
In the veins of the noblest Plantagenet — 
Such must her form be, her mood, and her 

strain, 
That shall match with Sir Roland of Trier- 
main. 



Sir Roland de Vaux he hath laid him to 

sleep, 
His blood it was fevered, his breathing 

was deep. 
He had been pricking against the Scot, 
The foray was long and the skirmish hot; 
His dinted helm and his buckler's plight 
Bore token of a stubborn fight. 

All in the castle must hold them still. 
Harpers must lull him to his rest 
With the slow soft tunes he loves the best 
Till sleep sink down upon his breast, 
Like the dew on a summer hill. 



It was the dawn of an autumn day ; 
The sun was struggling with frost-fog gray 
That like a silvery crape was spread 
Round Skiddaw's dim and distant head. 
And faintly gleamed each painted pane 
Of the lordly halls of Triermain, 

When that baron bold awoke. 
Starting he woke and loudly did call. 
Rousing his menials in bower and hall 

While hastily he spoke. 



' Hearken, my minstrels ! Which of ye all 
Touched his harp with that dying fall, 

So sweet, so soft, so faint. 
It seemed an angel's whispered call 

To an expiring saint ? 



540 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



4nd hearken, my merry-men ! What time 

or where 
Did she pass, that maid with her heavenly 

brow. 
With her look so sweet and her eyes so 

fair, 
And her graceful step and her angel air, 
And the eagle plume in her dark-brown 

hair, 
That passed from my bower e'en now ! " 



Answered him Richard de Bretville ; he 
Was chief of the baron's minstrelsy, — 
' Silent, noble chieftain, we 

Have sat since midnight close. 
When such lulling sounds as the brooklet 

sings 
Murmured from our melting strings. 
And hushed you to repose. 

Had a harp-note sounded here. 

It had caught my watchful ear, 
Although it fell as faint and shy- 
As bashful maiden's half-formed sigh 

When she thinks her lover near.' 
Answered Philip of Fasthwaite tall : 
He kept guard in the outer-hall, — 
' Since at eve our watch took post. 
Not a foot has thy portal crossed ; 

Else had I heard the steps, though low 
And light they fell as when earth receives 
In morn of frost the withered leaves 

That drop when no winds blow.' 



' Then come thou hither, Henry, my page, 
Whom I saved from the sack of Hermitage, 
When that dark castle, tower, and spire, 
Rose to the skies a pile of fire. 

And reddened all the Nine-stane Hill, 
And the shrieks of death, that wildly broke 
Through devouring flame and smothering 
smoke, 

Made the warrior's heart-blood chill. 
The trustiest thou of all my train, 
My fleetest courser thou must rein, 

And ride to Lyulph's tower, 
And from the Baron of Triermain 

Greet well that sage of power. 
He is sprung from Druid sires 
And British bards that tuned their lyres 
To Arthur's and Pendragon's praise. 
And his who sleeps at Dunmailraise. 
Gifted like his gifted race. 
He the characters can trace 
Graven deep in elder time 
Upon Hellvellyn's cliffs sublime : 
Sign and sigil well doth he know. 
And can bode of weal and woe. 



Of kingdoms' fall and fate of wars, 

From mystic dreams and course of stars. 

He shall tell if middle earth 

To that enchanting shape gave birth. 

Or if 't was but an airy thing 

Such as fantastic slumbers bring. 

Framed from the rainbow's varying dyes 

Or fading tints of western skies. 

For, by the blessed rood I swear. 

If that fair form breathe vital air. 

No other maiden by my side 

Shall ever rest De Vaux's bride ! ' 



The faithful page he mounts his steed, 
And soon he crossed green Irthing's mead. 
Dashed o'er Kirkoswald's verdant plain, 
And Eden barred his course in vain. 
He passed red Penrith's Table Round, 
For feats of chivalry renowned. 
Left Mayburgh's mound and stones of 

power. 
By Druids raised in magic hour. 
And traced the Eamont's winding way- 
Till, Ulfo's lake beneath him lay. 



Onward he rode, the pathway still 
Winding betwixt the lake and hill : 
Till, on the fragment of a rock 
Struck from its base by lightning shock, 

He saw the hoary sage : 
The silver moss and lichen twined, 
With fern and deer-hair checked and lined, 

A cushion fit for age ; 
And o'er him shook the aspen-tree, 
A restless rustling canopy. 
Then sprung young Henry from his selle 

And greeted Lyulph grave. 
And then his master's tale did tell. 

And then for counsel crave. 
The man of years mused long and deep, 
Of time's lost treasures taking keep. 
And then, as rousing from a sleep, 

His solemn answer gave. 



' That maid is born of middle earth 

And may of man be won. 
Though there have glided since her birth 

Five hundred years and one. 
But where 's the'knight in all the north 
That dare the adventure follow forth. 
So perilous to knightly worth, 

In the valley of Saint John .'* 
Listen, youth, to what I tell. 
And bind it on thy memory well; 
Nor muse that I commence the rhyme 
Far distant mid the wrecks of time. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



341 



The mystic tale by bard and sage 
Is handed down from Merlin's age. 



ILsulpl)'s Sale. 

' King Arthur has ridden from merry Car 

lisle 
When Pentecost was o'er: 
He journeyed like errant-knight the while, 
And sweetly the summer sun did smile 

On mountain, moss, and moor. 
Above his solitary track 
Rose Glaramara's ridgy back, 
Amid whose yawning gulfs 

the sun 
Cast umbered radiance red 

and dun, 
Though never sunbeam 

could discern 
The surface of that sable 

tarn. 
In whose black mirror you 

may spy 
The stars while noontide 

lights the sky. 
Thegallantkinghe skirted 

still 
The margin of that mighty 

hill ; 
Rock upon rocks incum- 
bent hung. 
And torrents, down the 

gullies flung. 
Joined the rude river that brawled on. 
Recoiling now from crag and stone, 
Now diving deep from human ken. 
And raving down its darksome glen. 
The monarch judged this desert wild, 
With such romantic ruin piled 
Was theatre by Nature's hand 



Than in bower of his bride, Dame Guen- 

ever, 
For he left that lady so lovely of cheer 
To follow adventures of danger and fear ; 
And the frank-hearted monarch full little 

did wot 
That she smiled in his absence on brave 

Lancelot. 



' He rode till over down and dell 
The shade jjiore broad and deeper fell ; 
And though around the mountain's head 
Flowed streams of purple and gold and red, 




For feat of high achievement planned. 



• O, rather he chose, that monarch bold. 

On venturous quest to ride 
In plate and mail by wood and wold 
Than, with ermine trapped and cloth of 
gold. 

In princely bower to bide ; 
The bursting crash of a foeman's spear, 

As it shivered against his mail, 
Was merrier music to his ear 

Than courtier's whispered tale: 
And the clash of Caliburn more dear, 

When on the hostile casque it rung. 
Than all the lays 
To the monarch's praise 

That the harpers of Reged sung. 
He loved better to rest by wood or river 



Dark at the base, unblest by beam. 
Frowned the black rocks and roared the 

stream. 
With toil the king his way pursued 
By lonely Threlkeld's waste and wood, 
Till on his course obliquely shone 
The narrow valley of Saint John, 
Down sloping to the western sky 
Where lingering sunbeams love to lie. 
Right glad to feel those beams again. 
The king drew up his charger's rein ; 
With gauntlet raised he screened his sight, 
As dazzled with the level light, 
And from beneath his glove of mail 
Scanned at his ease the lovely vale, 
While 'gainst the sun his armor bright 
Gleamed ruddy like the beacon's light. 

XIII. 

' Paled in by many a lofty hill. 
The narrow dale lay smooth and still. 
And, down its verdant bosom led, 
A winding brooklet found its bed. 
But midmost of the vale a mound 
Arose with airy turrets crowned. 
Buttress, and rampire's circling bound. 



342 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And mighty keep and tower ; 
Seemed some primeval giant's hand 
The castle's massive walls had planned. 
A ponderous bulwark to withstand 

Ambitious Nimrod's power. 
.Above the moated entrance slung, 
The balanced drawbridge trembling hung. 

As jealous of a foe ; 
Wicket of oak, as iron hard. 
With iron studded, clenched, and barred, 
And pronged portcullis, joined to guard 

The gloomy pass below. 
But the gray walls no banners crowned, 
Upon the watchtower's airy round 
No warder stood his horn to sound, 
No guard beside the bridge was found, 
And where the Gothic gateway frowned 

Glanced neither bill nor bow. 



' Beneath the castle's gloomy pride. 
In ample round did Arthur ride 
Three times ; nor living thing he spied, 

Nor heard a living sound. 
Save that, awakening from her dream, 
The owlet now began to scream 
In concert with the rushing stream 

That washed the battled mound. 
He lighted from his goodly steed, 
And he left him to graze on bank and mead ; 
And slowly he climbed the narrow way 
That reached the entrance grim and gray, 
And he stood the outward arch below, 
And his bugle-horn prepared to blow 

In summons blithe and bold, 
Deeming to rouse from iron sleep 
The guardian of this dismal keep. 

Which well he guessed the hold 
Of wizard stern, or goblin grim, 
Or pagan of gigantic limb, 

The tyrant of the wold. 

XV. 

' The ivory bugle's golden tip 

Twice touched the monarch's manly lip, 

And twice his hand withdrew. — 
Think not but Arthur's heart was good ! 
His shield was crossed by the blessed 

rood : 
Had a pagan host before him stood. 

He had charged them through and 
through ; 
Yet the silence of that ancient place 
Sunk on his heart, and he paused a space 

Ere yet his horn he blew. 
But, instant as its larum rung. 
The castle gate was open flung. 
Portcullis rose with crashing groan 
Full harshly up its groove of stone : 



The balance-beams obeyed the blast, 
And down the trembling drawbridge cast ; 
The vaulted arch before him lay 
With naught to bar the gloomy way. 
And onward Arthur paced with hand 
On Caliburn's resistless brand. 



' A hundred torches flashing bright 
Dispelled at once the gloomy night 

That loured along the walls, 
And showed the king's astonished sight 

The inmates of the halls. 
Nor wizard stern, nor goblin grim, 
Nor giant huge of form and limb. 

Nor heathen knight, was there : 
But the cressets which odors flung aloft 
Showed by their yellow light and soft 

A band of damsels fair. 
Onward they came, like summer wave 

That dances to the shore ; 
An hundred voices welcome gave, 

And welcome o'er and o'er ! 
An hundred lovely hands assail 
The bucklers of the monarch's mail. 
And busy labored to unhasp 
Rivet of steel and iron clasp. 
One wrapped him in a mantle fair. 
And one flung odors on his hair; 
His short curled ringlets one smoothed 

down. 
One wreathed them with a myrtle crown. 
A bride upon her wedding-day 
Was tended ne'er by troop so gay. 



' Loud laughed they all, — the king in vain 
With questions tasked the giddy train ; 
Let him entreat or crave or call, 
'T was one reply — loud laughed they all. 
Then o'er him mimic chains they fling 
Framed of the fairest flowers of spring ; 
While some their gentle force unite 
Onward to drag the wondering knight. 
Some bolder urge his pace with blows, 
Dealt with the lily or the rose. 
Behind him were in triumph borne 
The warlike arms he late had worn. 
Four of the train combined to rear 
The terrors of Tintadgel's spear ; 
Two, laughing at their lack of strength, 
Dragged Caliburn in cumbrous length ; 
One, while she aped a martial stride. 
Placed on lier brows the helmet's pride ; 
Then screamed 'twixt laughter and surprise 
To feel its depth o'erwhelm her eyes. 
With revel-shout and triumph-song 
Thus gayly marclied the giddy throng. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIA. 



343 



XVIII. 

' Through many a gallery and hall 
Thev led, I ween, their royal thrall ; 
At length, beneath a fair arcade 
Their march and song at once they staid. 
The eldest maiden of the band — 

The lovely maid was scarce eighteen — 
Raised with imposing air her hand, 
And reverent silence did command 

On entrance of their Queen, 
And they were mute. — But as a glance 
They steal on Arthur's countenance 

Bewildered with surprise, 
Their smothered mirth again 'gan speak 
In archly dimpled chin and cheek 

And laughter-lighted eyes. 

XIX. 

* The attributes of those high days 
Now only live in minstrel-lays ; 
For Nature, now exhausted, still 
Was then profuse of good and ill. 
Strength was gigantic, valor high. 
And wisdom soared beyond the sky, 
And beauty had such matchless beam 
As lights not now a lover's dream. 
Yet e'en in that romantic age 

Ne'er were such charms by mortal seen 
As Arthur's dazzled eyes engage. 
When forth on that enchanted stage 
With glittering train of maid and page 

Advanced the castle's queen ! 
While up the hall she slowly passed, 
Her dark eye on the king she cast 

That flashed expression strong; 
The longer dwelt that lingering look, 
Her cheek the livelier color took. 
And scarce the shame-faced king could 
brook 

The gaze that lasted long. 
A sage who had that look espied, 
Where kindling passion strove with pride, 

Had whispered, " Prince, beware ! 
From the chafed tiger rend the prey. 
Rush on the lion when at bay. 
Bar the fell dragon's blighted way, 

But shun that lovely snare ! " 

XX. 

' At once, that inward strife suppressed, 
The dame approached her warlike guest, 
With greeting in that fair degree 
Where female pride and courtesy 
Are blended with such passing art 
As awes at once and charms the heart. 
A courtly welcome first she gave. 
Then of his goodness 'gan to crave 

Construction fair and true 
Of her light maidens' idle mirth. 



Who drew from lonely glens their birth 
Nor knew to pay to stranger worth 

And dignity their due ; 
And then she prayed that he would rest 
That night her castle's honored guest. 
The monarch meetly thanks expressed ; 
The banquet rose at her behest. 
With lay and tale, and laugh and jest, 

Apace the evening flew. 



' The lady sate the monarch by, 
Now in her turn abashed and shy, 
And with indifference seemed to hear 
The toys he whispered in her ear. 
Her bearing modest was and fair. 
Yet shadows of constraint were there 
That showed an over-cautious care 

Some inward thought to hide ; 
Oft did she pause in full reply. 
And oft cast down her large dark eye, 
Oft checked the soft voluptuous sigh 

That heaved her bosom's pride. 
Slight symptoms these, but shepherds 

know 
How hot the mid-day sun shall glow 

From the mist of morning sky ; 
And so the wily monarch guessed 
That this assumed restraint expressed 
More ardent passions in the breast 

Than ventured to the eye. 
Closer he pressed while beakers rang. 
While maidens laughed and minstrels sang. 

Still closer to her ear — 
But why pursue the common tale ? 
Or wherefore show how knights prevail 

When ladies dare to hear.? 
Or wherefore trace from what slight caUse 
Its source one tyrant passion draws. 

Till, mastering all within, 
Where lives the man that has not tried 
How mirth can into folly glide 

And folly into sin ! ' 



2rte Brilial of STriermam. 

CANTO SECOND. 
ILgulplj's 2Cale Continucfi. 



' Another day, another day, 
And yet another, glides away ! 
The Saxon stern, the pagan Dane, 
Maraud on Britain's shores again. 
Arthur, of Christendom the flower, 
Lies loitering in a lady's bower ; 



344 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The horn that foemen wont to fear 
Sounds but to wake the Cumbrian deer, 
And Caliburn, the British pride, 
Hangs useless by a lover's side. 



^ Another day, another day, 

And yet another, glides away. 

Heroic plans in pleasure drowned, 

He thinks not of the Table Round ; 

In lawless love dissolved his life, 

He thinks not of his beauteous wife : 

Better he loves to snatch a flower 

From bosom of his paramour 

Than from a Saxon knight to wrest 

The honors of his heathen crest ; 

Better to wreathe mid tresses brown 

The heron's plume her hawk struck down 

Than o'er the altar give to flow 

The banners of a Paynim foe. 

Thus week by week and day by day 

His life inglorious glides away ; 

But she that soothes his dream with fear 

Beholds his hour of waking near. 



' Much force have mortal charms to stay 
Our pace in Virtue's toilsome way ; 
But Guendolen's might far outshine 
Each maid of merely mortal line. 
Her mother was of human birth, 
Her sire a Genie of the earth, 
In days of old deemed to preside 
O'er lovers' wiles and beauty's pride. 
By youths and virgins worshipped long 
With festive dance and choral song, 
Till, when the cross to Britain came, 
On heathen altars died the flame. 
Now, deep in Wastdale solitude, 
The downfall of his rights he rued, 
And born of his resentment heir. 
He trained to guile that lady fair, 
To sink in slothful sin and shame 
The champions of the Christian name. 
Well skilled to keep vain thoughts alive, 
And all to promise, naught to give, 
The timid youth had hope in store. 
The bold and pressing gained no more. 
As wildered children leave their home 
After the rainbow's arch to roam, 
Her lovers bartered fair esteem. 
Faith, fame, and honor, for a dream. 



' Her sire's soft arts the soul to tame 
She practised thus — till Arthur came ; 
Then frail humanity had part, 
And all the mother claimed her heart. 
Forgot each rule her father gave, 
Sunk from a princess to a slave, 



Too late must Guendolen deplore. 
He that has all can hope no more ! 
Now must she see her lover strain 
At every turn her feeble chain. 
Watch to new-bind each knot and shrink 
To view each fast-decaying Imk. 
Art she invokes to Nature's aid. 
Her vest to zone, her locks to braid; 
Each varied pleasure heard her call, 
The feast, the tourney, and the ball : 
Her storied lore she next applies, 
Taxing her mind to aid her eyes ; 
Now more than mortal wise and then 
In female softness sunk again ; 
Now raptured with each wish complying, 
With feigned reluctance now denying; 
Each charm she varied to retain 
A varying heart — and all in vain ! 



' Thus in the garden's narrow bound 
Flanked by some castle's Gothic round. 
Fain would the artist's skill provide 
The limits of his realms to hide. 
The walks in labyrinths he twines, 
Shade after shade with skill combines 
With many a varied flowery knot 
And copse and arbor decks the spot, 
Tempting the hasty foot to stay 
And linger on the lovely way — 
Vain art ! vain hope ! 't is fruitless all ! 
At length we reach the bounding wall, 
And, sick of flower and trim-dressed tree, 
Long; for rough glades and forest free. 



' Three summer months had scantly flown 
When Arthur in embarrassed tone 
Spoke of his liegemen and Iiis throne ; 
Said all too long had been his stay, 
And duties which a monarch sway. 
Duties unknown to humbler men. 
Must tear her knight from Guendolen. 
She listened silently the while. 
Her mood expressed in bitter smile 
Beneath her eye must Arthur quail 
And oft resume the unfinished tale, 
Confessing by his downcast eye 
The wrong he sought to justify. 
He ceased. A moment mute she gazed, 
And then her looks to heaven she raised; 
One palm her temples veiled to hide 
The tear that sprung in spite of pride ; 
The other for an instant pressed 
The foldings of her silken vest ! 



' At her reproachful sign and look, 

The hint the monarch's conscience took. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



345 



Eager he spoke — '' No, lady, no ! 
Deem not of British Arthur so, 
Nor think he can deserter prove 
To the dear pledge of mutual love. 
I swear by sceptre and by sword, 
As belted knight and Britain's lord. 
That if a boy shall claim my care, 
That boy is born a kingdom's heir; 
But, if a maiden Fate allows. 
To choose that mate a fitting spouse, 
A summer-day in lists shall strive 
My knights — the bravest knights alive 



The monarch gave a passing sigh 
To penitence and pleasures by, 
When, lo ! to his astonished ken 
Appeared the form of Guendolen. 



' Beyond the outmost wall she stood, 
Attired like huntress of the wood : 
Sandalled her feet, her ankles bare, 
And eagle-plumage decked her hair ; 
Firm was her look, her bearing bold, 
And in her hand a cup of gold. 



a^ 



i5 * 



.iiii(ii!ii«liili,iii!li:''5iilii!i;! 



And he, the best and bravest tried, 
Shall Arthur's daughter claim for bride.' 
He spoke with voice resolved and high - 
The lady deigned him not reply. 



' At dawn of morn ere on the brake 
His matins did a warbler make 
Or stirred his wing to brush away 
A single dewdrop from the spray, 
Ere yet a sunbeam through the mist 
The castle-battlements had kissed. 
The gates revolve, the drawbridge falls. 
And Arthur sallies from the walls. 
Doffed his soft garb of Persia's loom. 
And steel from spur to helmet plume, 
His Lybian steed full proudly trode. 
And joyful neighed beneath his load. 



'• Thou goest ! " she said, " and ne'er again 

Must we two meet in joy or pain. 

Full fain would I this hour delay. 

Though weak the wish — yet wilt thou stay ? 

No! thou look'st forward. Still attend, — 

Part we like lover and like friend." 

She raised the cup — " Not this the juice 

The sluggish vines of earth produce ; 

Pledge we at parting in the draught 

Which Genii love ! " — she said and quaffed; 

And strange unwonted lustres fly 

From her flushed cheek and sparkling eye. 



' The courteous monarch bent him low 
And, stooping down from saddlebow, 
Lifted the cup in act to drink. 
A drop escaped the goblet's brink — 



346 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Intense as liquid fire from hell, 
Upon the charger's neck it fell. 
Screaming with agony and fright, 
He bolted twenty feet upright — 
The peasant still can show the dint 
Where his hoofs lighted on the flint. — 
Yrom Arthur's hand the goblet flew, 
Scattering a shower of fiery dew 
That burned and blighted where it fell ! 
The frantic steed rushed up the dell, 
As whistles from the bow the reed ; 
Nor bit nor rein could check his speed 

Until he gained the hill ; 
Then breath and sinew failed apace. 
And, reeling from the desperate race. 

He stood exhausted, still. 
The monarch, breathless and amazed, 
Back on the fatal castle gazed — 
Nor tower nor donjon could he spy, 
Darkening against the morning sky ; 
But on the spot where once they frowned 
The lonely streamlet brawled around 
A tufted knoll, where dimly shone 
Fragments of rock and rifted stone. 
Musing on this strange hap the while, 
The king wends back to fair Carlisle ; 
And cares that cumber royal sway 
Wore memory of the past away. 



' Full fifteen years and more were sped, 

Each brought new wreaths to Arthur's head. 

Twelve bloody fields with glory fought 

The Saxons to subjection brought : 

Rython, the mighty giant, slain 

By his good brand, relieved Bretagne : 

The Pictish Gillamore in fight 

And Roman Lucius owned his might ; 

And wide were through the world renowned 

The glories of his Table Round. 

Each knight who sought adventurous fame 

To the bold court of Britain came, 

And all who suffered causeless wrong, 

From tyrant proud or faitour strong, 

Sought Arthur's presence to complain. 

Nor there for aid implored in vain. 



' For this the king with pomp and pride 
Held solemn court at Whitsuntide, 

And summoned prince and peer. 
All who owed homage for their land. 
Or who craved knighthood from his hand. 
Or who had succour to demand, 

To come from far and near. 
At such high tide were glee and game 
Mingled with feats of martial fame. 
For many a stranger champion came 

In lists to break a spear ; 



And not a knight of Arthur's host, 
Save that he trode some foreign coast. 
But at this feast of Pentecost 

Before him must appear. 
Ah, minstrels ! when the Table Round 
Arose with all its warriors crowned. 
There was a theme for bards to sound 

In triumph to their string ! 
Five hundred years are past and gone, 
But time shall draw his dying groan 
Ere he behold the British throne 

Begirt with such a ring I 



' The heralds named the appointed spot, 
As Caerleon or Camelot, 

Or Carlisle fair and free. 
At Penrith now the feast was set, 
And in fair Eamont's vale were met 

The flower of chivalry. 
There Galaad sate with manly grace, 
Yet maiden meekness in his face ; 
There Morolt of the iron mace. 

And love-lorn Tristrem there ; 
And Dinadam with lively glance. 
And Lanval with the fairy lance. 
And Mordred with his look askance, 

Brunor and Bevidere. 
Why should I tell of numbers more ? 
Sir Cay, Sir Bannier, and Sir Bore, 

Sir Carodac the keen. 
The gentle Gawain's courteous lore. 
Hector de Mares and Pellinore, 
And Lancelot, that evermore 

Looked stolen-wise on the queen. 



' When wine and mirth did most abound 
And harpers played their blithest round, 
A shrilly trumpet shook the ground 

And marshals cleared the ring ; 
A maiden on a palfrey white. 
Heading a band of damsels bright, 
Paced through the circle to alight 

And kneel before the king. 
Arthur with strong emotion saw 
Her graceful boldness checked by awe. 
Her dress like huntress of the wold, 
Her bow and baldric trapped with gold. 
Her sandalled feet, her ankles bare, 
And the eagle-plume that decked her hair. 
Graceful her veil she backward flung — 
The king, as from his seat he sprung, 

Almost cried, " Guendolen ! " 
But 't was a face more frank and wild, 
Betwixt the woman and the child, 
Where less of magic beauty smiled 

Than of the race of men ; 
And in the forehead's haughty grace 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



W 





i»^ 




II»^ ^^ASmi 



The lines of Britain's royal race, 
Pendragon's you might ken. 



' Faltering, yet gracefully she said — 
"Great Prince ! behold an orphan maid, 
In her departed mother's name, 
A father's vowed protection claim ! 
The vow was sworn in desert lone 
In the deejD valley of Saint John." 
At once the king the suppliant raised, 
And kissed her brow, her beauty praised : 
His vow, he said, should well be kept, 
Ere in the sea the sun was dipped. — 
Then conscious glanced upon his queen : 
But she, unruffled at the scene 
Of human frailty construed mild, 
Looked upon Lancelot and smiled. 



' " Up ! up ! each knight of gallant crest 

Take buckler, spear, and brand ! 
He that to-day shall bear him best 

Shall win my Gyneth's hand. 
And Arthur's daughter when a bride 

Shall bring a noble dower. 
Both fair Strath-Clyde and Reged wide, 

And Carlisle town and tower." 
Then might you hear each \Mliant knight 

To page and squire that cried, 
" Bring my armor bright and my courser 

wight; 
'T is not each day that a warrior's might 

May win a royal bride." 
Then cloaks and caps of maintenance 

In haste aside they fling ; 
The helmets glance and gleams the lance. 

And the steel-weaved hauberks ring. 
Small care had they of their peaceful array, 

They might gather it that wolde ; 



For brake and bramble glittered gay 
With pearls and cloth of gold. 



' Within trumpet sound of the Table Round, 

Were fifty champions free, 
And they all arise to fight that prize, — 

They all arise but three. 
Nor love's fond troth nor wedlock's oath 

One gallant could withhold. 
For priests will allow of a broken vow 

For penance or for gold. 
But sigh and glance from ladies bright 

Among the troop were thrown, 
To plead their right and true-love plight, 

And plain of honor flown. 
The knights they busied them so fast 

With buckling spur and belt 
That sigh and look by ladies cast 

Were neither seen nor felt. 
From pleading or upbraiding glance 

Each gallant turns aside. 
And only thought, " If speeds my lance, 

A queen becomes my bride ! 
She has fair Strath-Clyde and Reged wide. 

And Carlisle tower and town ; 
She is the loveliest maid, beside, 

That ever heired a crown." 
So in haste their coursers they bestride 

And strike their visors down. 



' The champions, armed in martial sort, 

Have thronged into the list. 
And but three knights of Arthur's court 

Are from the tourney missed. 
And still these lovers' fame survives 

For faith so constant shown, — 
There were tw^o who loved their neighbors' 
wives. 



548 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And one who loved his own. 
The first was Lancelot de Lac, 

The second Tristrem bold, 
The third was valiant Carodac, 

Who won the cup of gold 
What time, of all King Arthur's crew — 

Thereof came jeer and laugh — 
He, as the mate of lady true. 

Alone the cup could quaff. 
Though envy's tongue would fain surmise 

That, but for very shame, 
Sir Carodac to fight that prize 

Had given both cup and dame. 
Yet, since but one of that fair court 

Was true to wedlock's shrine. 
Brand him who will with base report. 

He shall be free from mine. 



' Now caracoled the steeds in air. 
Now plumes and pennons wantoned fair. 
As all around the lists so wide 
In panoply the champions ride. 
King Arthur saw with startled eye 
The flower of chivalry march by. 
The bulwark of the Christian creed. 
The kingdom's shield in hour of need. 
Too late he thought him of the woe 
Might from their civil conflict flow; 
For well he knew they would not part 
Till cold was many a gallant heart. 
His hasty vow he 'gan to rue, 
And Gyneth then apart he drew ; 
To her his leading-staff resigned. 
But added caution tjrave and kind. 



' " Thou see'st, my child, as promise-bound, 

1 bid the trump for tourney sound. 

Take thou my warder as the queen 

And umpire of the martial scene ; 

But mark thou this : — as Beauty bright 

Is polar star to valiant knight. 

As at her word his sword he draws. 

His fairest guerdon her applause, 

So gentle maid should never ask 

Of knighthood vain and dangerous task : 

.And Beauty's eyes should ever be 

Like the twin stars that soothe the sea. 

And Beauty's breath should whisper peace 

And bid the storm of battle cease. 

1 tell thee this lest all too far 

These knights urge tourney into war. 

Blithe at the trumpet let them go, 

And fairly counter blow for blow ; — 

No striplings these, who succor need 

For a razed helm or falling steed. 

But, Gyneth, when the strife grows warm 

And threatens death or deadly harm, 



Thy sire entreats, thy king commands. 
Thou drop the warder from thy hands. 
Trust thou thy father with thy fate, 
Doubt not he choose thee fitting mate : 
Nor be it said through Gyneth's pride 
A rose of Arthur's chaplet died." 



' A proud and discontented glow 
O'ershadowed Gyneth's brow of snow ; 

She put the warder bv : — 
" Reserve thy boon, my liege," she said, 
" Thus chaffered down and limited, 
Debased and narrowed for a maid 

Of less degree than L 
No petty chief but holds his heir 
At a more honored price and rare 

Than Britain's King holds me ! 
Although the sun-burned maid for dower 
Has but her father's rugged tower, 

His barren hill and lee." 
King Arthur swore, •' By crown and sword. 
As belted knight and Britain's lord, 
That a whole summer's day should strive 
His knights, the bravest knights alive ! '' — 
•' Recall thine oath ! and to her glen 
Poor Gyneth can return agen ; 
Not on thy daughter will the stain 
That soils thy sword and crown remain. 
But think not she will e'er be bride 
Save to the bravest, proved and tried : 
Pendragon's daughter will not fear 
For clashing sword or splintered spear. 

Nor shrink though blood should flow; 
And all too well sad Guendolen 
Hath taught the faithlessness of men 
That child of hers should pity when 

Their meed they undergo.'" 



' He frowned and sighed, the monarch 

bold : — 
" I give — what I may not withhold : 
For, not for danger, dread, or death, 
Must British Arthur break his faith. 
Too late I mark thy mother's art 
Hath taught thee this relentless part. 
I blame her not. for she had wrong, 
But not to these my faults belong. 
LIse then the warder as thou wilt : 
But trust me that, if life be spilt. 
In Arthur's love, in Arthur's grace. 
Gyneth shall lose a daughter's place." 
With that he turned his head aside. 
Nor brooked to gaze upon her pride. 
As with the truncheon raised she sate 
The arbitress of mortal fate ; 
Nor brooked to mark in ranks disposed 
How the bold cliampions stood opposed. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



349 



F"or shrill the trumpet-flourish fell 
Upon his ear like passing bell ! 
Then first from sight of martial fray 
Did Britain's hero turn away. 

XXIII. 

' But Gyneth heard the clangor high 
As hears the hawk the partridge cry. 
O, blame her not ! the blood was hers 
That at the trumpet's summons stirs !- 
And e'en the gentlest female eye 
Might the brave strife of chivalry 
Awhile untroubled view ; 



Like lark's, shrill song the flourish flows, 
Heard while the gale of April blows 
The merry greenwood through. 



' But soon to earnest grew their game, 
The spears drew blood, the swords struck 

flame. 
And, horse and man, to ground there came 

Knights who shall rise no more ! 
Gone was the pride the war that graced, 
Gay shields were cleft and crests defaced. 
And steel coats riven and helms unbraced, 




So well accomplished was each knight 
To strike and to defend in fight, 
Their meeting was a goodly sight 

While plate and mail held true. 
The lists with painted plumes were strown, 
Upon the wind at random thrown. 
But helm and breastplate bloodless shone, 
It seemed their feathered crests alone 

Should this encounter rue. 
And ever, as the combat grows. 
The trumpet's cheery voice arose, 



And pennons streamed with gore. 
Gone too were fence and fair array. 
And desperate strength made deadly way 
At random through the bloody fray, 
And blows were dealt with headlong- 
sway. 

Unheeding where they fell ; 
And now the trumpet's clamors seem 
Like the shrill sea-bird's wailing scream 
Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing stream, 

The sinking seaman's knell ! 



350 



SCOT'rS POETICAL WORKS. 



'Seemed in this dismal hour that Fate 
Would Camlan's ruin antedate, 

And spare dark Mordred's crime ; 
Already gasping on the ground 
Lie twenty of the Table Round, 

Of chivalry the prime. 
Arthur in anguish tore away 
From head and beard his tresses gray. 
And she, proud Gyneth, felt dismay 

And quaked with ruth and fear ; 
But still she deemed her mother's shade 
Hung o'er the tumult, and forbade 
The sign that had the slaughter staid, 

And chid the rising tear. 
Then Brunor, Taulas, Mador, fell, 
HeHas the White, and Lionel, 

And many a champion more ; 
Rochemontand Dinadam are down. 
And Ferrand of the Forest Brown 

Lies gasping in his gore. 
Vanoc, by mighty Morolt pressed 
Even to the confines of the list, 
Young Vanoc of the beardless face - — 
Fame spoke the youtli of Merlin's race — 
O'erpowered at Gyneth's footstool bled, 
His heart's-blood dyed her sandals red. 
But then the sky was overcast, 
Then howled at once a whirlwind's blast. 

And, rent by sudden throes, 
Yawned in mid lists the quaking earth, 
And from the gulf — tremendous birth ! — 

The form of Merlin rose. 

XXVI. 

' Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed 
The dreary lists with slaughter dyed. 

And sternly raised his hand : — 
" Madmen," he said, " your strife forbear 
And thou, fair cause of mischief, hear 
The doom thy fates demand ! 
Long shall close in stony sleep 
Eyes for ruth that would not weep ; 
Iron lethargy shall seal 
Heart that pity scorned to feel. 
Yet, because thy mother's art 
Warped thine unsuspicious heart. 
And for love of Arthur's race 
Punishment is blent with grace, 
Thou shalt bear thy penance lone 
In the valley of Saint John, 
And this weird shall overtake thee : 
Sieep until a knight shall wake thee. 
For feats of arms as far renowned 
As warrior of the Table Round. 
I ong endurance of thy slumber 
Well may teach the world to number 
All their woes from Gyneth's pride. 
When the Red Cross champions died." 



'As Merlin speaks, on Gyneth's eye 
Slumber's load begins to lie ; 
Fear and anger vainly strive 
Still to keep its light alive. 
Twice with effort and with pause 
O'er her brow her hand she draws ; 
Twice her strength in vain she tries 
From the fatal chair to rise ; 
Merlin's magic doom is spoken, 
Vanoc's death must now be wroken. 
Slow the dark-fringed eyelids fall. 
Curtaining each azure ball, 
Slowly as on summer eves 
Violets fold their dusky leaves. 
The weighty baton of command 
Now bears down her sinking hand. 
On her shoulder droops her head ; 
Net of pearl and golden thread 
Bursting gave her locks to flow 
O'er her arm and breast of snow. 
And so lovely seemed she there. 
Spell-bound in her ivory chair. 
That her angry sire repenting 
Craved stern Merlin for relenting, 
And the champions for her sake 
Would again the contest wake ; 
Till in necromantic night 
Gyneth vanished from their sight. 



' Still she bears her weird alone 
In the Valley of Saint John ; 
And her semblance oft will seem. 
Mingling in a champion's dream, 
Of her weary lot to plain 
And crave his aid to burst her chain. 
While her wondrous tale was new 
Warriors to her rescue drew, 
East and west, and south and north, 
P^rom the Liffy, Thames, and Forth. 
Most have sought in vain the glen. 
Tower nor castle could they ken ; 
Not at every time or tide. 
Nor by every eye, descried. 
Fast and vigil must be borne, 
Many a night in watching worn. 
Ere an eye of mortal powers 
Can discern those magic towers. 
Of the persevering feu- 
Some from hopeless task withdrew 
When they read the dismal threat 
Graved upon the gloomy gate. 
Few have braved the yawning door, 
And those few returned no more. 
In the lapse of time forgot, 
Wellnigh lost is Gyneth's lot ; 
Sound her sleep as in tlie tomb 
Till wakened by the trump of doom.' 

3Ent) of lLi?ulp!)'s STalr. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



351 




Here pause, my tale ; for all too soon, 
My Lucy, comes the hour of noon. 
Already from thy lofty dome 
Its courtly inmates 'gin to roam, 
And each, to kill the goodly day 
That God has granted them, his way 
Of lazy sauntering has sought : 

Lordlings and witlings not a few. 
Incapable of doing aught, 

Yet ill at ease with naught to do. 
Here is no longer place for me ; 
For, Lucy, thou wouldst blush to see 
Some phantom fashionably thin. 
With limb of lath and kerchiefed chin, 
And lounging gape or sneering grin. 
Steal sudden on our privacy. 
And how should I, so humbly born. 
Endure the graceful spectre's scorn? 
Faith ! ill, I fear, while conjuring wand 
Of English oak is hard at hand. 



Or grant the hour be all too soon 
For Hessian boot and pantaloon. 



And grant the lounger seldom strays 
Beyond the smooth and gravelled maze, 
Laud we the gods that Fashion's train 
Holds hearts of more adventurous strain. 
Artists are hers who scorn to trace 
Their rules from Nature's boundless grace, 
But their right paramount assert 
To limit her by pedant art. 
Damning whate'er of vast and fair 
Exceeds a canvass three feet square. 
This thicket, for \\-\q\x gutnption fit, 
May furnish such a happy bit. 
Bards too are hers, wont to recite 
Their own sweet lays by waxen light, 
Half in the salver's tingle drowned, 
While the chasse-cafe ^\6.&?< around; 
And such may hither secret stray 
To labor an extempore : 
Or sportsman with his boisterous hollo 
May here his wiser spaniel follow. 
Or stage-struck Juliet may presume 
To choose this bower for tiring-room ; 
And we alike must shun regard 
From painter, player, sportsman, bard. 
Insects that skim in fashion's sky, 



352 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Wasp, blue-bottle, or butterfly, 
Lucy, have all alarms for us. 
For all can hum and all can buzz. 



But O, my Lucy, say how long 

We still must dread this trifling throng, 

And stoop to hide with coward art 

The genuine feelings of the heart ! 

No parents thine whose just command 

Should rule their child's obedient hand ; 

Thy guardians with contending voice 

Press each his individual choice. 

And which is Lucy's .'' — Can it be 

That puny fop, trimmed cap-a-pee. 

Who loves in the saloon to show 

The arms that never knew a foe ; 

Whose sabre trails along the ground. 

Whose legs in shapeless boots are drowned ; 

A new Achilles, sure — the steel 

Fled from his breast to fence his heel : 

One, for the simple manly grace 

That wont to deck our martial race. 

Who comes in foreign trashery 
Of tinkling chain and spur, 

A walking haberdashery 
Of feathers, lace, and fur : 
In Rowley's antiquated phrase, 
Horse-milliner of modern days ? 

IV. 

Or is it he, the wordy youth. 

So early trained for statesman's part. 

Who talks of honor, faith and truth. 
As themes that he has got by heart ; 
Whose ethics Chesterfield can teach. 
Whose logic is from Single-speech ; 
Who scorns the meanest thought to vent 
Save in the phrase of Parliament ; 
Who, in a tale of cat and mouse. 
Calls 'order,' and 'divides the house,' 
Who ' craves, permission to reply,' 
Whose "noble friend is in his eye ; ' 
Whose loving tender some have reckoned 
A motion you should gladly second? 



What, neither ? Can there be a third. 
To such resistless swains preferred ? — 
O why, my Lucy, turn aside 
With that quick glance of injured pride.'' 
Forgive me, love, I cannot bear 
That altered and resentful air. 
Were all the wealth of Russel mine 
And all the rank of Howard's line. 
All would I give for leave to dry 
That dewdrop trembling in thine eye. 
Think not I fear such fops can wile 



From Lucy more than careless smile ; 
But yet if wealth and high degree 
Give gilded counters currency. 
Must I not fear when rank and birth 
Stamp the pure ore of genuine worth ? 
Nobles there are whose martial fires 
Rival the fame that raised their sires. 
And patriots, skilled through storms of fate 
To guide and guard the reeling state. 
Such, such there are — If such should come, 
Arthur must tremble and be dumb. 
Self-exiled seek some distant shore. 
And mourn till life and grief are o'er. 



What sight, what signal of alarm, 
That Lucy clings to Arthur's arm? 
Or is it that the rugged way 
Makes Beauty lean on lover's stay? 
O, no ! for on the vale and brake 
Nor sight nor sounds of danger wake, 
And this trim sward of velvet green 
Were carpet for the Fairy Queen. 
That pressure slight was but to tell 
That Lucy loves her Arthur well, 
And fain would banish from his mind 
Suspicious fear and doubt unkind. 



But wouldst thou bid the demons fly 

Like mist before the dawning sky, 

There is but one resistless spell — 

Say, wilt thou guess or must I tell ? 

'T were hard to name in minstrel phrase 

A landaulet and four blood-bays. 

But bards agree this wizard band 

Can but be bound in Northern land. 

'T is there — nay, draw not back thy 

hand ! — 
'T is there this slender finger round 
Must golden amulet be bound, 
Which, blessed with many a holy prayer, 
Can change to rapture lov^ers' care, 
And doubt and jealousy shall die, 
And fears give place to ecstasy. 



Now, trust me, Lucy, all too long 
Has been thy lover's tale and song. 
O, why so silent, love, I pray ? 
Have I not spoke the livelong day ? 
And will not Lucy deign to say 

One word her friend to bless ? 
1 ask but one — a simple sound. 
Within three little letters bound — 

O, let the word be YES ! 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



353 



JJEi^e Brilial of ^Trt'ertnain. 

CANTO THIRD. 
INTRODUCTION. 



Long loved, long wooed, and lately won, 
My life's best hope, and now mine own ! 
Doth not this rude and Alpine glen 
Recall our favorite haunts agen .'' 
A wild resemblance we can trace, 
Though reft of every softer grace. 
As the rough warrior's brow may bear 
A likeness to a sister fair. 
Full well advised our Highland host 
That this wild pass on foot be crossed. 
While round Ben-Cruach's mighty base 
Wheel the slow steeds and lingering chase. 
The keen old carle, with Scottish pride 
He praised his glen and mountains wide ; 
An eye he bears for nature's face. 
Ay, and for woman's lovely grace. 



Even in such mean degree we find 
j The subtle Scot's observing mind ; 
For nor the chariot nor the train 
Could gape of vulgar wonder gain. 
But when old Allan would expound 
Of Beal-na-paish the Celtic sound, 
His bonnet doffed and bow applied 
His legend to my bonny bride ; 
While Lucy blushed beneath his eye. 
Courteous and cautious, shrewd and sly. 



Enough of him. — Now, ere we lose. 
Plunged in the vale, the distant views. 
Turn thee, my love ! look back once more 
To the blue lake's retiring shore. 
On its smooth breast the shadows seem 
Like objects in a morning dream. 
What time the slumberer is aware 
He sleeps and all the vision "s air : 
Even so on yonder lic[uid lawn. 
In hues of bright reflection drawn. 
Distinct the shaggy mountains lie, 




354 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Distinct the rocks, distinct the sky ; 
The summer-clouds so plain we note 
That we might count each dappled spot : 
We gaze and we admire, yet know 
The scene is all delusive show. 
Such dreams of bliss would Arthur draw 
When first his Lucy's form he saw, 
Yet sighed and sickened as he drew, 
Despairing they could e'er prove true ! 



But, Lucy, turn thee now to view 

Up the fair glen our destined way : 
The fairy path that we pursue, 
Distinguished but by greener hue, 

Winds round the purple brae. 
While Alpine flowers of varied dye 
For carpet serve or tapestry. 
See how the little runnels leap 
In threads of silver down the steep 

To swell the brooklet's moan ! 
Seems that the Highland Naiad grieves. 
Fantastic while her crown she weaves 
Of rowan, birch, and alder leaves, 

So lovely and so lone. 
There 's no illusion there ; these flowers, 
That wailing brook, these lovely bowers. 

Are, Lucy, all our own ; 
And, since thine Arthur called thee wife, 
Such seems the prospect of his life, 
A lovely path on-winding still 
By gurgling brook and sloping hill. 
'T is true that mortals cannot tell 
What waits them in the distant dell; 
But be it hap or be it harm, 
We tread the pathway arm in arm. 



And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou why 

1 could thy bidding twice deny, 

When twice you prayed I would again 

Resume the legendary strain 

Of the bold knight of Triermain ? 

At length yon peevish vow you swore 

That you would sue to me no more. 

Until the minstrel fit drew near 

And made me prize a listening ear. 

Hut, loveliest, when thou first didst pray 

Continuance of the knightly lay. 

Was it not on the happy day 

That made thy hand mine own ? 
When, dizzied with mine ecstasy. 
Naught past, or present, or to be. 
Could I or think on, hear, or see. 

Save, Lucy, thee alone ! 
A giddy draught my rapture was 
As ever chemist's macfic gas. 



Again the summons I denied 

In yon fair capital of Clyde : 

My harp — or let me rather choose 

The good old classic form — my Muse — 

For harp 's an over-scutched phrase. 

Worn out by bards of modern days — 

My Muse, then — seldom will she wake. 

Save by dim wood and silent lake ; 

She is the wild and rustic maid 

Whose foot unsandalled loves to tread 

Where the soft greensward is inlaid 

With varied moss and thyme ; 
And, lest the simple lily-braid. 
That coronets her temples fade, 
She hides her still in greenwood shade 

To meditate her rhyme. 



And now she comes ! The murmur dear 
Of the wild brook hath caught her ear. 

The glade hath won her eye; 
She longs to join with each blithe rill 
That dances down the Highland hill 

Her blither melody. 
And now my Lucy's way to cheer 
She bids Ben-Cruach's echoes hear 
How closed the tale my love whilere 

Loved for its chivalry. 
List how she tells in notes of flame 
' Child Roland to the dark tower came ! ' 



STfje IBrttial of STriFrmafn. 



CANTO THIRD. 



Bewcastle now must keep the hold, 

Speir-Adam's steeds must bide in stall, 
Of Hartley-burn the bowmen bold 

Must only shoot from battled wall ; 
And Liddesdale may buckle spur. 

And Teviot now may belt the brand, 
Tarras and Ewes keep nightly stir. 

And Eskdale foray Cumberland. 
Of wasted fields and plundered flocks 

The P)Orderers bootless may complain ; 
They lack the sword of brave Dc Vaux, 

There comes no aid from Triermain. 
That lord on high adventure bound 

Hath wandered forth alone. 
And day and night keeps watchful round 

In the valley of Saint John. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



355 



When first began his vigil bold 

The moon twelve summer nights was old 

And shone both fair and full ; 
High in the vault of cloudless blue, 
O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she threw 

Her light composed and cool. 
Stretched on the brown hill's heathy breast. 

Sir Roland eyed the vale ; 
Chief where, distinguished from the rest. 
Those clustering rocks upreared their crest, 
The dwelling of the fair distressed, 

As told gray Lyulph's tale. 
Thus as he lay, the lamp of night 
Was quivering on his armor bright 

In beams that rose and fell, 
And danced upon his buckler's boss 
That lay beside him on the moss 

As on a crystal well. 



Ever he watched and oft he deemed. 
While on the mound the moonlight streamed. 

It altered to his eyes; 
Fain would he hope the rocks 'gan change 
To buttressed walls their shapeless range. 
Fain think by transmutation strange 

He saw gray turrets rise. 
But scarce his heart with hope throbbed 

high 
Before the wild illusions fiy 

Which fancy had conceived, 
Abetted by an anxious eye 

That longed to be deceived. 
It was a fond deception all, 
Such as in solitary hall 

Beguiles the musing eye 
When, gazing on the sinking fire, 
Bulwark, and battlement, and spire 

In the red gulf we spy. 
For, seen by moon of middle night, 
Or by the blaze of noontide bright, 
Or by the dawn of morning light. 

Or evening's western flame, 
In every tide, at every hour, 
In mist, in sunshine, and in shower. 

The rocks remained the same. 



Oft has he traced the charmed mound. 
Oft climbed its crest or paced it round, 

Yet nothing might explore. 
Save that the crags so rudely piled, 
At distance seen, resemblance wild 

To a rough fortress bore. 
Yet still his watch the warrior keeps. 
Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps, 

And drinks but of the well ; 
Ever by day he walks the hill. 



He seeks a rocky cell, 
Like hermit poor to bid his bead, 
And tell his Ave and his Creed, 
Invoking every saint at need 

For aid to burst his spell. 



And now the moon her orb has hid 
And dwindled to a silver thread. 

Dim seen in middle heaven. 
While o'er its curve careering fast 
Before the fury of the blast 

The midnight clouds are driven. 
The brooklet raved, for on the hills 
The upland showers had swoln the rills 

And down the torrents came ; 
Muttered the distant thunder dread. 
And frequent o'er the vale was spread 

A sheet of lightning flame. 
De Vaux within his mountain cave — 
No human step the storm durst brave — 
To moody meditation gave 

Each faculty of soul, 
Till, lulled by distant torrent sound 
And the sad winds that whistled round. 
Upon his thoughts in musing drowned 

A broken slumber stole. 



'T was then was heard a heavy sound — 

Sound, strange and fearful there to hear, 
'Mongst desert hills wliere leagues around 

Dwelt but the gorcock and the deer. 
As, starting from his couch of fern. 
Again he heard in clangor stern 

That deep and solemn swell. 
Twelve times in measured tone it spoke. 
Like some proud minster's pealing clock 

Or city's larum-bell. 
What thought was Roland's first when fell 
In that deep wilderness the knell 

Upon his startled ear ? 
To slander warrior were I loath. 
Yet must I hold my minstrel troth — 

It was a thought of fear. 



But lively was the mingled thrill 
That chased that momentary chill. 

For Love's keen wish was there^ 
And eager Hope, and Valor high, 
And the proud glow of Chivalry 

That burned to do and dare. 
Forth from the cave the warrior rushed. 
Long ere the mountain-voice was hushed 

That answered to the knell ; 
For long and far the unwonted sound, 
Eddying in echoes round and round, 

Was tossed from fell to fell ; 



356 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And Glaramara answer flung, 
And Grisdaie-pike responsive rung, 
And Legbert heights their echoes swung 
As far as Derwent's dell. 



Forth upon trackless darkness gazed 
The knight, bedeafened and amazed, 

Till all was hushed and still. 
Save the swoln torrent's sullen roar, 
And the night-blast that wildly bore 

Its course along the hill. 
Then on the northern sky there came 
A light as of reflected flame. 

And over Legbert-head, 
As if by magic art controlled, 
A mighty meteor slowly rolled 

Its orb of fiery red ; 
Thou wouldst have thought some demon 

dire 
Came mounted on that car of fire 

To do his errand dread. 
Far on the sloping valley's course, 
On thicket, rock, and torrent hoarse. 
Shingle and Scrae, and Fell and Force. 

A dusky light arose : 
Displayed, yet altered was the scene : 
Dark rock, and brook of silver sheen. 
Even the gay thicket's summer green. 

In bloody tincture glows. 



De Vaux had marked the sunlieanis set 
At eve upon the coronet 

Of that enchanted mound, 
And seen but crags at random flung. 
That, o'er the brawling torrent hung, 

In desolation frowned. 
What sees he by that meteor's lour .'' — 
A bannered castle, keep, and tower 

Return the lurid gleam, 
With battled walls and buttress fast, 
And barbican and ballium vast. 
And airy flanking towers that cast 

Their shadows on the stream. 
'T is no deceit ! distinctly clear 
Crenell and parapet appear, 
While o'er the pile that meteor drear 

Makes momentary pause : 
Then forth its solemn path it drew. 
And fainter yet and fainter grew 
Those gloomy towers upon the view, 

As its wild light withdraws. 



Forth from the cave did Roland rush, 
O'er crag and stream, through brier and 
bush ; 
Yet far he had not sped 



Ere sunk was that portentous light 
Behind the hills and utter night 

Was on the valley spread. 
He paused perforce and blew his horn. 
And, on the mountain-echoes borne. 

Was heard an answering sound, 
A wild and lonely trumpet note,— 
In middle air it seemed to float 

High o'er the battled mound ; 
And sounds were heard as when a guard 
Of some proud castle, holding ward. 

Pace forth their nightly round. 
The valiant Knight of Triermain 
Rung forth his challenge-blast again. 

But answer came there none ; 
And mid the mingled wind and rain 
Darkling he sought the vale in vain, 

Until the dawning shone; 
And when it dawned that wondrous sight 
Distinctly seen by meteor light. 

It all had passed away ! 
And that enchanted mount once more 
A pile of granite fragments bore 

As at the close of day. 



Steeled for the deed, De Vaux's heart 
Scorned from his vent'rous quest to part, 

He walks the vale once more ; 
But only sees by night or day 
That shattered pile of rocks so gray. 

Hears but the torrent's roar : 
Till when, through hills of azure borne. 
The moon renewed her silver horn. 
Just at the time her waning ray 
Had faded in the dawning day 

A summer mist arose ; 
Adown the vale the vapors float. 
And cloudy undulations moat 
That tufted mound of mystic note, 

As round its base they close. 
And higher now the fleecy tide 
Ascends its stern and shaggy side. 
Until the airy billows hide 

The rock's majestic isle : 
It seemed a veil of filmy lawn. 
By some fantastic fairy drawn 

Around enchanted pile. 



The breeze came softly down the brook. 

And, sighing as it blew, 
The veil of silver mist it shook 
And to De Vaux's eager look 

Renewed that wondrous view. 
For, though the loitering vapor braved 
The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved 

Its mantle's dew}- fold ; 
And still when shook that filmy screen 
Were towers and bastions dimly seen, 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



;57 







And Gothic battlements between ' 

Their gloomy length unrolled. 
Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on thine eye 
Once more the fleeting vision die ! — 

The gallant knight 'gan speed 
As prompt and light as, when the hound 
Is opening and the horn is wound, 

Careers the hunter's steed. 
Down the steep dell his course amain 

Hath rivalled archer's shaft; 
But ere, the mound he, could attain 
The rocks their shapeless form regain. 
And, mocking loud his labor vain, 

The mountain spirits laughed. 
Far up the echoing dell was borne 
Their wild unearthly shout of scorn. 

XIII. 

Wroth waxed the warrior. — 'Am I then 
Fooled by the enemies of men. 
Like a poor hind whose homeward way 
Is haunted by malicious fay? 



Is Triermain become your taunt, 

De Vaux your scorn ? False fiends, avaunt ! ' 

A weighty curtal-axe he bare ; 

The baleful blade so bright and square. 

And the tough shaft of heben wood, 

Were oft in Scottish gore imbrued. 

Backward his stately form he drew. 

And at the rocks the weapon threw 

Just where one crag's projected crest 

Hung proudly balanced o'er the rest. 

Hurled with main force the weapon's shock 

Rent a huge fragment of the rock. 

If by mere strength, 't were hard to tell, 

Or if the blow dissolved some spell, 

But down the headlong ruin came 

With cloud of dust and flash of flame. 

Down bank, o'er bush, its course was 

borne, 
Crushed lay the copse, the earth was torn, 
Till staid at length the ruin dread 
Cumbered the torrent's rocky bed. 
And bade the waters' high-swoln tide 
Seek other passage for its pride. 



358 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



When ceased that thunder Triermain 
Surveyed the mound's rude front again : 
And lo ! the ruin had laid bare, 
Hewn in the stone, a winding stair 
Whose mossed and fractured steps might 

lend 
The means the summit to ascend ; 
And by whose aid the brave De Vaux 
Began to scale these magic rocks. 

And soon a platform won 
Where, the wild witchery to close. 
Within three lances' length arose 

The Castle of Saint John ! 
No misty phantom of the air. 
No meteor-blazoned show was there ; 
In morning splendor full and fair 

The massive fortress shone. 



Embattled high and proudly towered. 
Shaded by ponderous flankers, lowered 

The portal's gloomy way. 
Though for six hundred years and more 
Its strength had brooked the tempest's 

roar, 
The scutcheoned emblems which it bore 

Had suffered no decay: 
But from the eastern battlement 
A turret had made sheer descent, 
And, down in recent ruin rent, 

In the mid torrent lay. 
Else, o'er the castle's brow sublime, 
Insults of violence or of time 

Unfelt had passed away. 
In shapeless characters of yore. 
The gate this stern inscription bore : 



Ensaiptton. 

' Patience waits the destined day. 
Strength can clear the cumbered way. 
Warrior, who hast waited long, 
Firm of soul, of sinew strong. 
It is given to thee to gaze 
On the pile of ancient days. 
Never mortal builder's hand 
This enduring fabric planned ; 
Sign and sigil, word of power, 
From the earth raised keep and tower. 
View it o'er and pace it round. 
Rampart, turret, battled mound. 
Dare no more ! To cross the gate 
Were to tamper with thy fate ; 
Strength and fortitude were vain, 
View it o'er — and turn again.' 



'That would I,' said the warrior bold, 
' If that my frame were bent and old. 
And my thin blood dropped slow and cold 

As icicle in thaw; 
But while my heart can feel it dance 
Blithe as the sparkling wine of France, 
And this good arm wields sword or lance, 

I mock these words of awe ! ' 
He said ; the wicket felt the sway 
Of his strong hand and straight gave 

way, 
And with rude crash and jarring bray 

The rusty bolts withdraw ; 
But o'er the threshold as he strode 
And forward took the vaulted road. 
An unseen arm with force amain 
The ponderous gate flung close again. 

And rusted bolt and bar 
Spontaneous took their place once more 
While the deep arch with sullen roar 

Returned their surly jar. 
'Now closed is the gin and the prey within, 

By the Rood of Lanercost ! 
But he that would win the war-wolf's skin 

May rue him of his boast.' 
Thus muttering on the warrior went 
By dubious light down steep descent. 



Unbarred, unlocked, unwatched, a port 
Led to the castle's outer court : 
There the main fortress, broad and tall. 
Spread its long range of bower and hall 

And towers of varied size. 
Wrought with each ornament extreme 
That Gothic art in wildest dream 

Of fancy could devise ; 
But full between the warrior's way 
And the main portal arch there lay 
An inner moat ; 
Nor bridge nor boat 
Affords De Vaux the means to cross 
The clear, profound, and silent fosse. 
His arms aside in haste he flings. 
Cuirass of steel and hauberk rings. 
And down falls helm and down the 'shield, 
Rough with the dints of many a field. 
Fair was his manly form and fair 
His keen dark eye and close curled liair, 
When all unarmed save that the brand 
Of well-proved metal graced his hand, 
With naught to fence his dauntless breast 
But the close gipon's under-vest. 
Whose sullied buff the sable stains 
Of hauberk and of mail retains, — 
Roland De Vaux upon the brim 
Of the broad moat stood prompt to swim. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



359 



Accoutred thus he dared the tide, 
And soon he reached the farther side 

And entered soon the hold, 
And paced a hall whose walls so wide 
Were blazoned all with feats of pride 

By warriors done of old. 
In middle lists they countered here 

While trumpets seemed to blow ; 
And there in den or desert drear 

They quelled gigantic foe, 
Braved the fierce griffon in his ire, 
Or faced the dragon's breath of fire. 
Strange in their arms and strange in face, 
Heroes they seemed of ancient race, 
Whose deeds of arms and race and name, 
Forgotten long by later fame. 

Were here depicted to appall 
Those of an age degenerate 
Whose bold intrusion braved their fate 

In this enchanted hall. 
For some short space the venturous knight 
With these high marvels fed his sight, 
Then sought the chamber's upper end 
Where three broad easy steps ascend 

To an arched portal door. 
In whose broad folding leaves of state 
Was framed a wicket window-grate; 

And ere he ventured more, 
The gallant knight took earnest view 
Thegrated wicket-window through. 



O, for his arms ! Of martial weed 
Had never mortal knight such need ! — 
He spied a stately gallery ; all 
Of snow-white marble was the wall, 

The vaulting, and the floor ; 
And, contrast strange ! on either hand 
There stood arrayed in sable band 

Four maids whom Afric bore ; 
And each a Lybian tiger led. 
Held by as bright and frail a thread 

As Lucy's golden hair. 
For the leash that bound these monsters 
dread 

Was but of gossamer. 
Each maiden's short barbaric vest 
Left all unclosed the knee and breast 

And limbs of shapely jet ; 
White was their vest and turban's fold. 
On arms and ankles rings of gold 

In savage pomp were set ; 
A quiver on their shoulders lay. 
And in their hand an assagay. 
Such and so silent stood they there 

That Roland wellnigh hoped 
He saw a band of statues rare, 
Stationed the gazer's soul to scare ; 



But when the wicket oped 
Each grisly beast 'gan upward draw, 
Rolled his grim eye, and spread his claw, 
Scented the air, and licked his jaw ; 
While these weird maids in Moorish tongue 
A wild and dismal warning sung. 



' Rash adventurer, bear thee back I 

Dread the spell of Dahomay ! 
Fear the race of Zaharak ; 

Daughters of the burning day ! 

' When the whirlwind's gusts are wheeling, 

Ours it is the dance to braid ; 
Zarah's sands in pillars reeling 

Join the measure that we tread. 
When the Moon has donned her cloak 

And the stars are red to see, 
Shrill when pipes the sad Siroc, 

Music meet for such as we. 

' Where the shattered columns lie, 

Showing Carthage once had been, 
If the wandering Santon's eye 

Our mysterious rites hath seen, — 
Oft he cons the prayer of death. 

To the nations preaches doom, 
" Azrael's brand hath left the sheath ! 

Moslems, think upon the tomb ! '' 

' Ours the scorpion, ours the snake, 

Ours the hydra of the fen. 
Ours the tiger of the brake. 

All that plague the sons of men. 
Ours the tempest's midnight wrack, 

Pestilence that wastes by day — 
Dread the race of Zaharak ! 

Fear the spell of Dahomay ! ' 



Uncouth and strange the accents shrill 

Rung those vaulted roofs among. 
Long it was ere faint and still 

Died the far-resounding song. 
While yet the distant echoes roll, 
The warrior communed with his soul. 
' When first I took this venturous quest, 
I swore upon the rood 
Neither to stop nor turn nor rest. 

For evil or for good. 
My forward path too well I ween 
Lies yonder fearful ranks between ; 
For man unarmed 't is bootless hope 
With tigers and with fiends to cope — 
Yet, if 1 turn, what waits me there 
Save famine dire and fell despair ? — 
Other conclusion let me try. 
Since, choose howe'er I list, I die. 



\6o 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Forward lies faith and knightly fame : 
Behind are perjury and shame. 
In life or death I hold my word ! ' 
With that he drew his trusty sword, 
Caught down a banner from the wall, 
And entered thus the fearful hall. 



On high each wayward maiden threw 
Her swarthy arm with wild halloo ! 
On either side a tiger sprung — 
Against the leftward foe he flung 
The ready banner to engage 
With tangling folds the brutal rage: 
The right-hand monster in mid air 
He struck so fiercely and so fair 
Through gullet and through spinal bone 
The trenchant blade hath sheerly gone. 
His grisly brethren ramped and yelled, 
But the slight leash their rage withheld. 
Whilst 'twixt their ranks the dangerous road 
Firmly though swift the champion strode. 
Safe to the gallery's bound he drew, 
Safe passed an open portal through ; 
And when against pursuit he flung 
The gate, judge if the echoes rung! 
Onward his daring course he bore, 
While, mixed with dying growl and roar, 
Wild jubilee and loud hurra 
Pursued him on his venturous way. 



' Hurra, hurra ! Our watch is done ! 
We hail once more the tropic sun. 
Pallid beams of northern day. 
Farewell, farewell ! Hurra, hurra ! 

' Five hundred years o'er this cold glen 
Hath the pale sun come round agen : 
Foot of man till now hath ne'er 
Dared to cross the Hall of Fear. 

' Warrior ! thou whose dauntless heart 
Gives us from our ward to part. 
Be as strong in future trial 
Where resistance is denial. 

' Now for Afric's glowing sky, 
Zwenga wide and Atlas high, 
Zaharak and Dahomay ! — 
Mount the winds ! Hurra, hurra ! ' 



The wizard song at distance died. 

As if in ether borne astray. 
While through waste halls and chambers 
wide 

The knight pursued his steady way 
Till to a lofty dome he came 
That flashed with such a brilliant flame 



As if the wealth of all the world 
Were there in rich confusion hurled. 
For here the gold in sandy heaps 
With duller earth incorporate sleeps ; 
Was there in ingots piled, and there 
Coined badge of empery it bar6 ; 
Yonder, huge bars of silver lay. 
Dimmed by the diamond's neighboring ray, 
Like the pale moon in morning day ; 
And in the midst four maidens stand. 
The daughters of some distant land. 
Their hue was of the dark-red dye 
That fringes oft a thunder sky ; 
Their hands palmetto baskets bare. 
And cotton fillets bound their hair; 
Slim was their form, their mien was shy, 
To earth they bent the humbled eye, 
Folded their arms, and suppliant kneeled, 
And thus their proffered gifts revealed. 

XXVI. 

CHORUS. 

' See the treasures Merlin piled, 
Portion meet for Arthur's child. 
Bathe in Wealth's unbounded stream. 
Wealth that Avarice ne'er could dream ! ' 

FIRST MAIDEN. 

' See these clots of virgin gold ! 
Severed from the sparry mould, 
Nature's mystic alchemy 
In the mine thus bade them lie ; 
And their orient smile can win 
Kings to stoop and saints to sin.' 

SECOND MAIDEN. 

' See these pearls that long have slept ; 
These were tears by Naiacls wept 
For the loss of Marinel. 
Tritons in the silver shell 
Treasured them till hard and white 
As the teeth of Amphitrite.' 

THIRD MAIDEN. 

' Does a livelier hue delight ? 
Here are rubies blazing bright, 
Here the emerald's fairy green, 
And the topaz glows between; 
Here their varied hues unite 
In the changeful chrysolite.' 

FOURTH MAIDEN. 

' Leave these gems of poorer shine. 
Leave them all and look on mine ! 
While their glories I expand 
Shade thine eyebrows with thy hand. 
Mid-day sun and diamond's blaze 
l>lind the rash beholder's gaze." 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



361 



CHORUS. 

' Warrior, seize the splendid store ; 
Would 'twere all our mountains bore! 
We should ne'er in future story 
Read, Peru, thy perished glory ! ' 



Calmly and unconcerned the knight 
Waved aside the treasures bright — 
' Gentle Maidens, rise, I pray ! 
Bar not thus my destined way. 
Let these boasted brilliant toys 
Braid the haii of girls and bo^s ' 



When, lo ! a plashing sound he hears, 
A gladsome signal that he nears 

Some frolic water-run : 
And soon he reached a courtyard square 
Where, dancing in the sultry air, 
Tossed high aloft a fountain fair 

Was sparkling in the sun. 
On right and left a fair arcade 
In long perspective view displayed 
Alleys and bowers for sun or shade : 

But full in front a door. 




^-J^^" i^^4&^%^ 



-s 



\--^^ / 



Bid your streams of gold expand 
O'er proud London's thirsty land. 
De Vaux of wealth saw never need 
Save to purvey him arms and steed. 
And all the ore he deigned to hoard 
Inlays his helm and hilts his sword.' 
Thus gently parting from their hold. 
He left unmoved the dome of gold. 

XXVIII. 

And now the morning sun was high, 
De Vaux was weary, faint, and dry ; 



Low browed and daik, seemed as it led 
To the lone dwelling of the dead 
Whose memory was no more. 



Here stopped De Vaux an instant's space 
To bathe his parched lips and face. 

And marked with well-pleased eye, 
Refracted on the fountain stream. 
In rainbow hues the dazzling beam 

Of that gay summer sky. 
His senses felt a mild control. 
Like that which lulls the weary soul. 

From contemplation high 



362 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Relaxing, when the ear receives 
The music that the greenwood leaves 
Make to the breezes' sigh. 

XXX. 

And oft in such a dreamy mood 

The half-shut eye can frame 
Fair apparitions in the wood, 
As if the Nymphs of field and flood 

In gay procession came. 
Are these of such fantastic mould. 

Seen distant down the fair arcade. 
These maids enlinked in sister-fold. 

Who, late at bashful distance staid, 

Now tripping from the greenwood shade. 
Nearer the musing champion draw, 
And in a pause of seeming awe 

Again stand doubtful now ? — 
Ah, that sly pause of witching powers ! 
That seems to say, ' To please be ours. 

Be yours to tell us how.' 
Their hue was of the golden glow 
That suns of Candahar bestow, 
O'er which in slight suffusion flows 
A frequent tinge of paly rose ; 
Their limbs were fashioned fair and free 
In nature's justest symmetry; 
And, wreathed with flowers, with odors 

graced. 
Their raven ringlets reached the waist : 
In eastern pomp its gilding pale 
The henna lent each shapely nail, 
And the dark sumah gave the eye 
More liquid and more lustrous dye. 
The spotless veil of misty lawn. 
In studied disarrangement drawn 

The form and bosom o'er. 
To win the eye or tempt the touch. 
For modesty showed all too much — 

Too much — yet promised more. 

XXXI. 

' Gentle knight, awhile delay,' 

Thus they sung, ' thy toilsome way, 

While we pay the duty due 

To our Master and to you. 

Over Avarice, over Fear, 

Love triumphant led thee here ; 

Warrior, list to us, for we 

Are slaves to Love, are friends to thee. 

Though no treasured gems have we 

To proffer on the bended knee. 

Though we boast nor arm nor heart 

For the assagay or dart, 

Swains allow each simple girl 

Ruby lip and teeth of pearl ; 

Or, if dangers more you j^rize, 

Flatterers find them in our eyes. 

' Stay, then, gentle warrior, stay. 
Rest till evening steal on dav : 



Stay, O, stay ! — in yonder bowers 
We will braid thy locks with flowers, 
Spread the feast and fill the wine, 
Charm thy ear with sounds divine, 
Weave our dances till delight 
Yield to languor, day to night. 
Then shall she you most approve 
Sing the lays that best you love. 
Soft thy mossy couch shall spread, 
Watch thy pillow, prop thy head. 
Till the weary night be o'er — 
Gentle warrior, wouldst thou more. 
Wouldst thou more, fair warrior, — she 
Is slave to Love and slave to thee.' 



O, do not hold it for a crime 
In the bold hero of my rhyme, 

For Stoic look 

And meet rebuke 
He lacked the heart or time ; 
As round the band of sirens trip, 
He kissed one damsel's laughing lip. 
And pressed another's proffered hand. 
Spoke to them all in accents bland. 
But broke their magic circle through ; 
' Kind maids,' he said, ' adieu, adieu ! 
My fate, my fortune, forward lies.' 
He said and vanished from their eyes : 
But, as he dared that darksome way. 
Still heard behind their lovely lay : 
' Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart ! 
Go where the feelings of the heart 
With the warm pulse in concord move : 
Go where Virtue sanctions Love ! " 



Downward De Vaux through darksome 
ways 
And ruined vaults has gone. 

Till issue from their wildered maze 
Or safe retreat seemed none. 

And e'en the dismal path he strays 
Grew worse as he went on. 
For cheerful sun, for living air, 
Foul vapors rise and mine-fires glare, 
Whose fearful light the dangers showed 
That dogged him on that dreadful road. 
Deep pits and lakes of waters dun 
They showed, but showed not how to shun. 
These scenes of desolate despair, 
These smothering clouds of poisoned air. 
How gladly had De Vaux exchanged. 
Though 't were to face yon tigers ranged ! 

Nay, soothful bards have said, 
So perilous his state seemed now 
He wished him under arbor bough 

With Asia's willing maid. 
When, joyful sound ! at distance near 
A trumpet flourished loud and clear, 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



j^j 



And as it ceased a lofty lay 

Seemed thus to chide his lagging way. 



' Son of Honor, theme of story, 
Xhink on the reward before ye ! 
Danger, darkness, toil despise ; 
'T is Ambition bids thee rise. 

'• He that would her heights ascend, 
Many a weary step must wend ; 
Hand and foot and knee he tries ; 
Thus Ambition's minions rise. 

' Lag not now, though rough the way, 
Fortune's mood brooks no delay ; 
Grasp the boon that 's spread before ye. 
Monarch's power and Conqueror's glory ! ' 

It ceased. Advancing on the sound, 
A steep ascent the wanderer found. 

And then a turret stair : 
Nor climbed he far its steepy round 

Till fresher blew the air, 
And next a welcome glimpse was given 
That cheered him with the light of heaven. 

At length hi^ toil had won 
A lofty hall with trophies dressed. 
Where as to greet imperial guest 
Four maidens stood whose crimson vest 

Was bound with g-olden zone. 



Of Europe seemed the damsels all ; 
The first a nymph of lively Gaul 
Whose easy step and laughing eye 
Her borrowed air of awe belie ; 

The next a maid of Spain, 
Dark-eyed, dark-haired, sedate yet bold ; 
White ivory skin and tress of gold 
Her shy and bashful comrade told 

For daughter of Almaine. 
These maidens bore a royal robe, 
With crown, with sceptre, and with globe. 

Emblems of empery ; 
The fourth a space behind them stood, 
And leant upon a harp in mood 

Of minstrel ecstasy. 
Of merry England she, in dress 
Like ancient British Druidess, 
Her hair an azure fillet bound. 
Her graceful vesture swept the ground, 

And in her hand displayed 
A crown did that fourth maiden hold. 
But unadorned with gems and gold, 

Of glossy laurel made. 

xxxvi. 
At once to brave De Vaux knelt down 

These foremost maidens three. 
And proffered sceptre, robe, and crown, 



Liegedom and seignorie 
O'er many a region wide and fair. 
Destined, they said, for Arthur's heir ; 

But homage would he none : — 
' Rather,' he said, ' De Vaux would ride, 
A warden of the Border-side 
In plate and mail than, robed in pride, 

A monarch's empire own ; 
Rather, far rather, would he be 
A free-born knight of England free 

Than sit on despot's throne.' 
So passed he on, when that fourth maid, 

As starting from a trance. 
Upon the harp her finger laid ; 
Her magic touch the chords obeyed, 

Their soul awaked at once ! 

Song of tfje jFourtf) iEatUcii. 

' Quake to your foundations deep, 
Stately towers, and bannered keep, 
Bid your vaulted echoes moan, 
As the dreaded step they own. 

' Fiends, that wait on Merlin's spell, 
Hear the foot-fall ! mark it well ! 
Spread your dusky wings abroad, 
Boune ye for your homeward road ! 

' It is His, the first who e'er 
Dared the dismal Hall of Fear ; 
His, who hath the snares defied 
Spread by Pleasure, Wealth, and Pride, 

' Quake to your foundations deep, 
Bastion huge, and turret steep ! 
Tremble, keep ! and totter, tower ! 
This is Gyneth's waking hour.' 



Thus while she sung the venturous knight 
Has reached a bower where milder light 

Through crimson curtains fell ; 
Such softened shade the hill receives, 
Her purple veil when twilight leaves 

Upon its western swell. 
That bower, the gazer to bewitch. 
Had wondrous store of rare and rich 

As e'er was seen with eye ; 
P or there by magic skill, I wis. 
Form of each thing that living is 

Was limned in proper dye. 
All seemed to sleep — the timid hare 
On form, the stag upon his lair, 
The eagle in her eyrie fair 

Between the earth and sky. 
But what of pictured rich and rare 
Could win De Vaux's eye-glance, where. 
Deep slumbering in the fatal chair. 

He saw King Arthur's child ! 
Doubt and anger and dismay 
From her brow had passed away, 



564 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Forgot was that fell tourney-day, 

For as she slept she smiled : 

It seemed that the repentant Seer 

Her sleep of many a hundred year 

With gentle dreams beguiled. 



That form of maiden loveliness, 

'Twixt childhood and 'twixt youth, 
That ivory chair, that sylvan dress. 
The arms and ankles bare, express 
' Of Lyulph's tale the truth. 
Still upon her garment's hem 
Vanoc's blood made purple gem, 
And the warder of command 
Cumbered still her sleeping hand ; 
Still her dark locks dishevelled flow 
From net of pearl o'er breast of snow ; 
And so fair the slumberer seems 
That De Vaux impeached his dreams, 
Vapid all and void of might, 
Hiding half her charms from sight. 
Motionless awhile he stands, 
Folds his arms and clasps his hands, 
Trembling in his fitful joy, 
Doubtful how he should destroy 

Long-enduring spell ; 
Doubtful too, when slowly rise 
Dark-fringed lids of Gyneth's eyes. 

What these eyes shall tell. — 
' Saint George ! Saint Mary ! can it be 
That they will kindly look on me ! ' 



Gently, io ! the warrior kneels. 
Soft that lovely hand he steals, 
Soft to kiss and soft to clasp — 
But the warder leaves her grasp; 

Lightning flashes, rolls the thunder ! 
Gyneth startles from her sleep. 
Totters tower, and trembles keep. 

Burst the castle-walls asunder ! 
Fierce and frequent were the shocks, — 

Melt the magic halls away; — 
But beneath their mystic rocks. 
In the arms of bold De Vaux 

Safe the princess lay ; 
.Safe and free from magic power, 
Blushing like the rose's flower 

Opening to the day; 
And round the champion's brows were 

bound 
The crown that Druidess had wound 

Of the green laurel-bay. 
And this was what remained of all 
The wealth of each enchanted hall. 

The Garland and the Dame : 
But where should warrior seek the meed 
Due to high worth for daring deed 

Except from Love and Fame ! 



2Ef)0 Bribal of QTrt'ermam. 



CONCLUSION. 



My Lucy, when the maid is won 

The minstrel's task, thou know'st, is done 

And to require of bard 
That to his clregs the tale should run 

Were ordinance too hard. 
Our lovers, briefly be it said, 
Wedded as lovers wont to wed, 

When tale or play is o'er; 
Lived long and blest, loved fond and true. 
And saw a numerous race renew 

The honors that they bore. 
Know too that when a pilgrim strays 
In morning mist or evening maze 

Along the mountain lone, 
That fairy fortress often mocks 
His gaze upon the castled rocks 

Of the valley of Saint John ; 
But never man since brave De Vaux 

The charmed portal won. 
'T is now a vain illusive show 
That melts whene'er the sunbeams glow. 

Or the fresh breeze hath blown. 



But see, my love, where far below 
Our lingering wheels are moving slow. 

The whiles, up-gazing still, 
Our menials eye our steepy way, 
Marvelling perchance what whim can stay 
Our steps when eve is sinking gray 

On this gigantic hill. 
So think the vulgar — Life and time 
I^ing all their joys in one dull chime 

Of luxury and ease ; 
And O, beside these simple knaves. 
How many better born are slaves 

To such coarse joys as these. 
Dead to the nobler sense that glows 
When nature's grander scenes unclose ■ 
But, Lucy, we will love them yet. 
The mountain's misty coronet, 

The greenwood and the wold ; 
And love the more that of tlieir maze 
Adventure high of other days 

By ancient bards is told. 
Bringing perchance, like my poor tale, 
Some moral truth in fiction's veil : 
Nor love them less that o'er the hill 
The evening breeze as now comes chill; — 

My love shall wrap her warm, 
And, fearless of the slippery way 
While safe she trips the heathy brae, 

Shall hang on Arthur's arm. 



Ci)E iCorli of tijc Sfsles : 

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The Scene of this Poem lies, at first, in the Castle of Artornish, on the coast of Argyleshire ; and, afterwards, in the 
Islands of Skye and Arran, and upon the coast of Ayrshire. Finally, it is laid near Stirling. The story opens in the 
spring of the year 1307, when Bruce, who had been driven out of Scotland by the English, and the Barons who adhered 
to that foreign interest, returned from the Island of Rachrin on the coast of Ireland, again to assert his claims to the 
Scottish crown. Many of the personages and incidents introduced are of historical celebrity. The authorities used are 
chiefly those of the venerable Lord Hailes, as well entitled to be called the restorer of Scottish history, as Bruce the 
restorer of Scottish Monarchy; and of Archdeacon Barbour; a correct edition of whose Metrical History of Robert 
Bruce will soon, I trust, appear, under the care of my learned friend, the Rev. Dr. Jamieson. 
Abbotsford, lotk December, 1814. 



CANTO FIRST. 

Autumn departs — but still his mantle's fold 
Rests on the groves of noble Somerville, 
Beneath a shroud of russet drooped with gold 
Tweed and his tributaries mingle still ; 
Hoarser the wind and deeper sounds the rill, 
Yet lingering notes of sylvan music swell, 
The deep-toned cushat and the redbreast shrill ; 
And yet some tints of summer splendor tell 
When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's western fell. 

Autumn departs — - from Gala's fields no more 
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer : 
Blent with the stream and gale that wafts it o'er, 
No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear. 
The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear, 
And harvest-home hath hushed the clanging wain, 
On the waste hill no forms of life appear, 
Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train, 
Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scattered grain. 

Deem'st thou these saddened scenes have pleasure still, 
Lov'st thou through Autumn's fading realms to stray, 
To see the heath-flower withered on the hill, 
To listen to the woods' expiring lay, 
To note the red leaf shivering on the spray, 
To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain, 
On the waste fields to trace the gleaner's way, 
And moralize on mortal joy and pain? — 
O, if such scenes thou lov'st, scorn not the minstrel strain ! 



368 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 








No ! do not scorn, although its hoarser note 
Scarce with the cushat's homely song can vie, 
Though faint its beauties as the tints remote 
That gleam through mist in autumn's evening sky, 
And few as leaves that tremble, sear and dry, 
When wild November hath his bugle wound : 
Nor mock my toil — a lonely gleaner I 
Through fields time-wasted, on sad inquest bound 
Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest found. 

So shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved. 
To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day ; 
In distant lands, by the rough West reproved. 
Still live some relics of the ancient lay. 
For, when on Coolin's hills the lights decay. 
With such the Seer of Skye the eve beguiles : 
'T is known amid the pathless wastes of Reay. 
In Harries known and in lona's piles, 
Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the Isles. 




THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



369 



9rf)E ILotlr of tfje Isles. 



• Wake, Maid of Lorn ! ' the minstrels 

sung. — 
Thy rugged halls, Artornish. rung, 
Anfl the dark seas thy towers that lave 
Heaved on the beach a softer wave. 
As mid the tuneful choir to keep 
The diapason of the deep. 



'Wake, Maid of Lorn!' — 'twas thus they 

sung, 
And yet more proud the descant rung, 
' Wake, Maid of Lorn ! high right is ours 
To charm dull sleep from Beauty's bowers : 
Earth, ocean, air, have naught so shy 
But owns the power of minstrelsy. 
In Lettermore the timid deer 
Will pause the harp's wild chime to hear ; 




Lulled were the winds on Inninmore 
And green Loch-Alline's woodland shore. 
As if wild woods and waves had pleasure 
In listing to the lovely measure. 
And ne'er to symphony more sweet 
Gave mountain echoes answer meet 
Since, met from mainland and from isle, 
Ross, Arran, Islay, and Argyle, 
Each, minstrel's tributary lay 
Paid homage to the festal day. 
Dull and dishonored were the bard. 
Worthless of guerdon and regard. 
Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame. 
Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim. 
Who on that morn's resistless call 
Was silent in Artornish hall. 



Rude Heiskar's seal through surges dark 
Will long pursue the minstrel's bark ; 
To list his notes the eagle proud 
Will poise him on Ben-Cailliach's cloud ; 
Then let not maiden's ear disdain 
The summons of the minstrel train, 
But while our harps wild music make, 
Edith of Lorn, awake, awake ! 

III. 

' O wake while Dawn with dewy shine 
Wakes Nature's charms to vie with thine ! 
She bids the mottled thrush rejoice 
To mate thy melody of voice ; 
The dew that on the violet lies 
Mocks the dark lustre of thine eves-. 



24 



)7o 



SCOTT S POETICAL WORKS. 



But, Edith, wake, and all we see 
Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee ! ' — 
' She comes not yet,' gray Ferrand cried ; 
' Brethren, let softer spell be tried, 
Those notes prolonged, that soothing theme, 
Which best may mix with Beauty's dream. 
And whisper with their silvery tone 
The hope she loves yet fears to own.' 
He spoke, and on the harp-strings died 
The strains of flattery and of pride ; 
More soft, more low, more tender fell 
The lay of love he bade them tell. 



' Wake, Maid of Lorn ! the moments fly 

Which yet that maiden-name allow; 
Wake, Maiden, wake ! the hour is nigh 

When love shall claim a plighted vow. 
By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest. 

By Hope, that soon shall fears remove. 
We bid thee break the bonds of rest. 

And wake thee at the call of Love ! 

' Wake, Edith, wake ! in yonder bay 

Lies many a galley gayly manned. 
We hear thp merry pibroch's play. 

We see the streamers' silken band. 
What chieftain's praise these pibrochs 
swell. 

What crest is on these banners wove, 
The harp, the minstrel, dare not tell — 

The riddle must be read by Love.' 



Retired her maiden train among. 

Edith of Lorn received the song. 

But tamed the minstrel's pride had been 

That had her cold demeanor seen ; 

For not upon her cheek awoke 

The glow of pride when Flattery spoke. 

Nor could their tenderest numbers bring 

One sigh responsive to the string. 

As vainly had her maidens vied 

In skill to deck the princely bride. 

Her locks in dark-brown length arrayed, 

Cathleen of Ulne, 't was thine to braid ; 

Young Eva with meet reverence drew 

On the light foot the silken shoe, 

While on the ankle's slender round 

Those strings of pearl fair Bertha wound 

That, bleached Lochryan's depths within, 

Seemed dusky still on Edith's skin. 

But Einion, of experience old. 

Mad weightiest task — the mantle's fold 

In many an artful plait she tied 

To show the form it seemed to hide. 

Till on the floor descending rolled 

Its waves of crimson blent with <;old. 



O, lives there now so cold a maid, 
Who thus in beauty's pomp arrayed. 
In beauty's proudest pitch of power. 
And conquest won — the bridal hour — 
With every charm that wins the heart, 
By Nature given, enhanced by Art, 
Could yet the fair reflection view 
In the bright mirror pictured true. 
And not one dimple on her cheek 
A telltale consciousness bespeak? — 
Lives still such maid ? — Fair damsels, say, 
For further vouches not my lay . 
Save that such lived in Britain's isle 
When Lorn's bright Edith scorned to 
smile. 



But Morag, to whose fostering dare 

Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair, 

Morag, who saw a mother's aid 

By all a daughter's love repaid — 

Strict was that bond, most kind of all, 

Inviolate in Highland hall — 

Gray Morag sate a space apart. 

In Edith's eyes to read her heart. 

In vain the attendant's fond appeal 

To Morag's skill, to Morag's zeal; 

She marked her child receive their care. 

Cold as the image sculptured fair — 

Form of some sainted patroness — 

Whicli cloistered maids combine to dress ; 

She marked — and knew her nursling's 

heart 
In the vain pomp took little part. 
Wistful awhile she gazed — then pressed 
The maiden to her anxious breast 
In finished loveliness — and led 
To where a turret's airy liead, 
Slender and steep and battled round, 
O'erlooked, dark Mull, thy mighty Sound, 
Where thwarting tides with mingled roar 
Part thy swarth hills from Morven's shore. 



' Daughter,' she said, ' these seas behold, 
Round twice a hundred islands rolled. 
From Hirt that hears their northern roar 
To the green Hay's fertile shore ; 
Or mainland turn where many a tower 
Owns thy bold brother's feuclal power, 
Each on its own dark cape reclined 
And listening to its own wild wind, 
From where Mingarry sternly placed 
O'erawes the woodland and the waste. 
To where Dunstaffnage hears the raging 
Of Connal witli its rocks engaging. 
Think'st thou amid this ample round 
A single brow but thine has frowned, 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



37 




To sadden this auspicious morn 
That bids the daughter of high Lorn 
Impledge her spousal faith to wed 
The heir of mighty Somerled ? 
Ronald, from many a hero sprung, 
The fair, the valiant, and the young, 
Lord of the Isles, whose lofty name 
A thousand bards have given to fame. 
The mate of monarchs, and allied 
On equal terms with England's pride. — 
From chieftain's tower to bondsman's cot. 
Who hears the tale, and triumphs not ? 
The damsel dons her best attire, 
The shepherd lights his beltane fire, 
Joy ! joy ! each warder's horn hath sung, 
Joy ! joy ! each matin bell hath rung; 
The holy priest says grateful mass, 
Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass, 
No mountain den holds outcast boor 
Of heart so dull, of soul so poor. 
But he hath flung his task aside. 
And claimed this morn for holy-tide ; 
Yet, empress of this joyful day, 
Edith is sad while all are gay.' 



Proud Edith's soul came to her eye. 
Resentment checked the struggling sigh. 
Her hurrying hand indignant dried 
The burning tears of injured pride — 



' Morag, forbear ! or lend thy praise 

To swell yon hireling harpers' lays; 

Make to yon maids thy boast of power,. 

That they may waste a wondering hour 

Telling of banners proudly borne. 

Of pealing bell and bugle horn, 

Or, theme more dear, of robes of price, 

Crownlets and gauds of rare device. 

But thou, experienced as thou art, 

Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart 

That, bound in strong affection's chain. 

Looks for return and looks in vain ? 

No ! sum thine Edith's wretched lot 

In these brief words — He loves her not !: 



' Debate it not — too long I strove 

To call his cold observance love, 

All blinded by the league that styled 

Edith of Lorn — while yet a child 

She tripped the heath by Morag's side — 

The brave Lord Ronald's destined bride. 

Ere yet I saw him, while afar 

His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war. 

Trained to believe our fates the same, 

My bosom throbbed when Ronald's name 

Came gracing Fame's heroic tale. 

Like perfume on the summer gale. 

What pilgrim sought our halls nor told 

Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold : 



372 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Who touched the harp to heroes" praise 
But his achievements swelled the lays ? 
Even Morag — not a tale of fame 
Was hers but closed with Ronald's name. 
He came ! and all that had been told 
Of his high worth seemed poor and cold. 
Tame, lifeless, void of energy, 
Unjust to Ronald and to me ! 



' Since then, what thought had Edith's 

heart 
And gave not plighted love its part ! — 
And what requital ? cold delay — 
Excuse that shunned the spousal day. — 
It dawns and Ronald is not here ! — 
Hunts he Bentalla's nimble deer, 
Or loiters he in secret dell 
To bid some lighter love farewell, 
And swear that though he may not scorn 
A daughter of the House of Lorn, 
Yet, when these formal rites are o'er, 
Again they meet to part no more } ' 



' Hush, daughter, hush ! thy doubts re- 
move. 
More nobly think of Ronald's love. 
Look, where beneath the castle gray 
His fleet unmoor from Aros bay ! 
See'st not each galley's topmast bend 
As on the yards the sails ascend ? 
Hiding the dark-blue land they rise, 
Like the white clouds on April skies ; 
The shouting vassals man the oars, 
Behind them sink Mull's mountain shores. 
Onward their merry course they keep 
Through whistling breeze and foaming 

deep. 
And mark the headmost, seaward cast, 
Stoop to the freshening gale her mast. 
As if she veiled its bannered pride 
To greet afar her prince's bride ! 
Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed 
His galley mates the flying steed. 
He chides her sloth ! ' — Fair Edith sighed, 
Blushed, sadly smiled, and thus replied : 



* Sweet thought, but vain! — No, Morag! 

mark. 
Type of his course, yon lonely bark. 
That oft hath shifted helm and sail 
To win its way against the gale. 
Since peep of morn my vacant eyes 
Have viewed by fits the course she tries ; 
Now, though the darkening scud comes on, 
And dawn's fair promises be gone. 
And though 'the weary crew may see 



Our sheltering haven on their lee, 

Still closer to the rising wind 

They strive her shivering sail to bind. 

Still nearer to the shelves' dread verge 

At every tack her course they urge. 

As if they feared Artornish more 

Than adverse winds and breakers" roar.' 



Sooth spoke the maid. Amid the tide 

The skiff she marked lay tossing sore. 
And shifted oft her stooping side, 
In weary tack from shore to shore. 
Yet on her destined course no more 

She gained of forward way 
Than what a minstrel may compare 
To the poor meed w-hich peasants share 

Who toil the livelong day ; 
And such the risk her pilot braves 

That oft, before she wore. 
Her boltsprit kissed the broken waves 
Where in white foam the ocean raves 

Upon the shelving shore. 
Yet, to their destined purpose true, 
Undaunted toiled her hardy crew. 

Nor looked where shelter lay. 
Nor for Artornish Castle drew, 
» Nor steered for Aros bay. 



Thus while they strove with wind and seas, 
Borne onward by the willing breeze, 

Lord Ronald's fleet swept by, 
Streamered with silk and tricked with gold, 
Manned with the noble and the bold 

Of Island chivalry. 
Around their prows the ocean roars, 
And chafes beneath their thousand oars, 

Yet bears them on their way : 
So chafes the' war-horse in his might 
That fieldward bears some valiant knight, 
Champs till both bit and boss are white. 

But foaming must obey. 
On each gay deck they might behold 
Lances of steel and crests of gold. 
And hauberks with their burnished fold 

That shimmered fair and free ; 
And each proud galley as she passed 
To the wild cadence of the blast 

Gave wilder minstrelsy. 
Full many a shrill triumphant note 
Saline and Scallastle bade float 

Their misty shores around : 
And Morven's echoes answered well. 
And Duart heard the distant swell 

Come down the darksome Sound. 



So bore they on with mirth and pride, 
And if that laboring bark they spied, 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



373 



'Twas with such idle eye 
As nobles cast on lowly boot- 
When, toiling in his task obscure, 

They pass him careless by. 
Let them sweep on with heedless eyes I 
But had they known what mighty prize 

In that frail vessel lay. 
The famished wolf that prowls the wold 
Had scathless passed the unguarded fold, 
Ere, drifting by these galleys bold, 

Unchallenged were her way ! 
And thou. Lord Ronald, sweep thou on 
With mirth and pride and minstrel tone ! 
But hadst thou known who sailed so nigh, 
Far other glance were in thine eye ! 
Far other tlush were on thy brow. 
That, shaded by the bonnet, now 
Assumes but ill the blithesome cheer 
Of bridetrroom when the bride is near ! 



Yes, sweep they on ! — We will not leave. 
For them that triumph, those who grieve. 

With that armada gay 
Be laughter loud and jocund shout, 
And bards to cheer the wassail route 

With tale, romance, and lay ; 
And of wild mirth each clamorous art, 
Which, if it cannot cheer the heaft. 
May stupefy and stun its smart 

For one loud busy day. 
Yes, sweep they on ! — But with that skiff 

Abides the minstrel tale. 
Where there was dread of surge and cliff. 
Labor that strained each sinew stiff. 

And one sad maiden's w^ail. 



All day with fruitless strife they toiled. 
With eve the ebbing currents boiled 

More fierce from strait and lake ; 
And midway through the channel met 
Conflicting tides that foam and fret. 
And high their mingled billows jet, 
As spears that in the battle set 

Spring upward as they break. 
Then too the lights of eve were past. 
And louder sung the western blast 

On rocks of Inninmore ; 
Rent was the sail, and strained the mast. 
And many a leak was gaping fast. 
And the pale steersman stood aghast 

And gave the conflict o'er. 



'T was then that One whose lofty look 
Nor labor dulled nor terror shook 

Thus to the leader spoke : — 
' Brother, how hop'st thou to abide 



The fury of this wildered tide. 
Or how avoid the rock's rude side 

Until the day has broke ? 
Didst thou not mark the vessel reel 
With quivering planks and groaning keel 

At the last billow's shock .'' 
Yet how of better counsel tell, 
Though here thou see'st poor Isabel 

Half dead with want and fear ; 
For look on sea, or look on land. 
Or yon dark sky, on every hand 

Despair and death are near. 
For her alone I grieve — on me 
Danger sits light by land and sea, 

I follow where thou wilt ; 
Either to bide the tempest's lour. 
Or wend to yon unfriendly tower. 
Or rush amid their naval power. 
With war-cry wake their wassail-hour, 

And die with hand on hilt.' 



That elder leader's calm rejDly 

In steady voice was given, 
' In man's most dark extremity 

Oft succor dawns from heaven. 
Edward, trim thou the shattered sail. 
The helm be mine, and down the gale 

Let our free course be driven ; 
So shall we 'scape the western bay. 
The hostile fleet, the unequal fray. 
So safely hold our vessel's way 

Beneath the castle wall : 
For if a hope of safety rest, 
'T is on the sacred name of guest, 
Who seeks for shelter storm-distressed 

Within a chieftain's hall. 
If not — it best beseems our worth. 
Our name, our right, our lofty birth, 

Bv noble hands to fall.' 



The helm, to his strong arm consigned, 
Gave the reefed sail to meet the wind, 

And on her altered way 
Fierce bounding forward sprung the ship. 
Like greyhound starting from the slip 

To seize his flying prey. 
Awaked before the rushing prow 
The mimic fires of ocean glow. 

Those lightnings of the wave ; 
W^ild sparkles crest the broken tides. 
And flashing round the vessel's sides 

With elfish lustre lave. 
While far behind their livid light 
To the dark billows of the night 

A gloomy splendor gave, 
It seems as if old Ocean shakes 
From his dark brow the lucid flakes 

In envious pageantry. 



374 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



To match the meteor-light that streaks 
Grim Hecla's midnight sky. 



Nor lacked they steadier light to keep 
Their course upon the darkened deep ; - 
Artornish, on her frowning steep 

'Twixt cloud and ocean hung, 
Glanced with a thousand lights of glee, 
And landward far and far to sea 

Her festal radiance flung. 
By that blithe beacon-light they steered. 

Whose lustre mingled well 
With the pale beam that now appeared, 
As the cold moon her head upreared 

Above the eastern fell. 



XXIII. 

Thus guided, on their course they bore 
Until they neared the mainland shore, 
When frequent on the hollow blast 
Wild shouts of merriment were cast, 
And wind and wave and sea-birds' cry 
With wassail sounds in concert vie. 
Like funeral shrieks with revelry. 

Or like the battle-shout 
By peasants heard from cliffs on high 
When Triumph, Rage, and Agony 

Madden the fight and rout. 
Now nearer yet through mist and storm 
Dimly arose the castle's form 

And deepened shadow made, 
Far lengthened on the main below. 
Where dancing in reflected glow 

A hundred torches played. 
Spangling the wave with lights as vain 
As pleasures in this vale of pain, 

That dazzle as they fade. 



Beneath the castle's sheltering lee 
They staid their course in quiet sea. 
Hewn in the rock, a passage there 
Sought the dark fortress by a stair. 

So strait, so high, so steep, 
With peasant's staff one valiant hand 
Might well the dizzy pass have manned 
"Gainst hundreds armed with spear and 
brand 

And plunged them in the deep. 
His bugle then the helmsman wound : 
Loud answered every echo round 

From turret, rock, and bay ; 
The postern's hinges crash- and groan, 
And soon the warder's cresset shone 
On those rude steps of slippery stone, 

To light the upward way. 
' Thrice welcome, holv Sire ! ' he said : 



' Full long the spousal train have staid. 

And, vexed at thy delay, 
Feared lest amidst these wildering seas 
The darksome night and freshening breeze 

Had driven thy bark astray.' — 



' Warder,' the younger stranger said, 
' Thine erring guess some mirth had made 
In mirthful hour ; but nights like these, 
When the rough winds wake western seas, 
Brook not of glee. We crave some aid 
And needful shelter for this maid 

Until the break of day ; 
For to ourselves the deck's rude plank 
Is easy as the mossy bank 

That "s breathed upon by May. 
And for our storm-tossed skiff we seek 
Short shelter in this leeward creek. 
Prompt when the dawn the east shall streak 

Again to bear away.' 
Answered the warder, ' In what name 
Assert ye hospitable claim? 

Whence come or whither bound? 
Hath Erin seen your parting sails, 
Or come ye on Norweyan gales ? 
And seek ye England's fertile vales, 

Or Scotland's mountain ground?' 



' Warriors — for other title none 
For some brief space we list to own, 
Bound by a vow — warriors are we; 
In strife by land and storm by sea 

We have been known to fame; 
And these brief words have import dear, 
When sounded in a noble ear, 
To harbor safe and friendly cheer 

That gives us rightful claim. 
Grant us the trivial boon we seek. 
And we in other realms will speak 

Fair of your courtesy ; 
Deny — and be your niggard hold 
Scorned by the noble and the bold. 
Shunned by the pilgrim on the wold 

And wanderer on the lea ! ' 

XXVII. 

'Bold stranger, no — gainst claim like 

thine 
No bolt revolves by hand of mine. 
Though urged in tone that more expressed 
A monarch than a suppliant guest. 
Be what ye will, Artornish Hall 
On this glad eve is free to all. 
Though ye had drawn a hostile sword 
"Gainst our ally, great England's Lord, 
Or mail upon your shoulders borne 
To battle with the Lord of Lorn, 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



375 



Or outlawed dwelt by greenwood tree 
With the fierce Knight of EUerslie, 
Or aided even the murderous strife 
When Comyn fell beneath the knife 
Of that fell homicide the Bruce, 
This night had been a term of truce. — 
Ho, vassals ! give these guests your care. 
And show the narrow postern stair.' 



To land these two bold brethren leapt — 
The weary crew their. vessel kept — 
And, lighted by the torches' flare 
That seaward flung their smoky glare, 
The younger knight that maiden bare 

Half lifeless up the rock ; 
On his strong shoulder leaned her head. 
And down her long dark tresses shed, 
As the wild vine in tendrils spread 

Droops from the mountain oak. 
Him followed close that elder lord. 
And in his hand a sheathed sword 

Such as few arms could wield ; 
But when he bouned him to such task 
Well could it cleave the strongest casque 

And rend the surest shield. 



The raised portcullis' arch they pass, 
The wicket with its bars of brass. 

The entrance long and low. 
Flanked at each turn by loop-holes strait. 
Where bowmen might in ambush wait — 
If force or fraud should burst the gate — 

To gall an entering foe. 
But every jealous post o£ ward 
Was now defenceless and unbarred, 

And all the passage free 
To one low-browed and vaulted room 
Where squire and yeoman, page and groom. 

Plied their loud revelry. 



And ' Rest ye here,' the warder bade, 
' Till to our lord your suit is said. — 



And, comrades, gaze not on the maid 
And on these men who ask our aid, 

As if ye ne'er had seen 
A damsel tired of midnight bark 
Or wanderers of a moulding stark 

And bearing martial mien.' 
But not for Eachin's reproof 
Would page or vassal stand aloof, 

But crowded on to stare, 
As men of courtesy untaught. 
Till fiery Edward roughly caught 

From one the foremost there 
His chequered plaid, and in its shroud. 
To hide her from the vulgar crowd, 

Involved his sister fair. 
His brother, as the clansman bent 
His sullen brow in discontent, 

Made brief and stern excuse : 
'Vassal, were thine the cloak of pall 
That decks thy lord in bridal hall, 

'T were honored by her use.' 



Proud was his tone but calm; his eye 

Had that compelling dignity. 

His mien that bearing haught and high, 

Which common spirits fear; 
Needed nor word nor signal more, 
Nod, wink, and laughter, all were o'er ; 
Upon each other back they bore 

And gazed like startled deer. 
But now appeared the seneschal, 
Commissioned by his lord to call 
The strangers to the baron's hall. 

Where feasted fair and free 
That Island Prince in nuptial tide 
With Edith there his lovely bride, 
And her bold brother by her side, 
And many a chief, the flower and pride 

Of Western land and sea. 

Here pause we, gentles, for a space : 
And, if our talp hath won your grace. 
Grant us brief patience and again 
We will renew the minstrel strain. 



376 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



5rf}E ilart of i\)t Eslrs. 



CANTO SECOND. 



Fill the bright goblet, spread the festive board I 
Summon the gay, the noble, and the fair! 
Through the loud hall in joyous concert poured, 
Let mirth and music sound the dirge of Care ! 
But ask thou not if Happiness be there, 
If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe, 
Or if the brow the heart's true livery wear; 
Lift not the festal mask ! — enough to know. 
No scene of mortal life but teems with mortal woe. 



With beakers' clang, with harpers' lay, 
With all that olden time deemed gay, 
The Island Chieftain feasted high ; 
But there was in his troubled eye 
A gloomy fire, and on his brow 
Now sudden flushed and faded now 
Emotions such as draw their birth 
From deeper source than festal mirth. 
By fits he paused, and harper's strain 
And jester's tale went round in vain. 
Or fell but on his idle ear 
Like distant sounds which dreamers hear. 
Then would he rouse him, and employ 
Each art to aid the clamorous joy, 

And call for pledge and lay, 
And for brief space of all the crowd. 
As he was loudest of the loud. 

Seem gayest of the gay. 



Yet naught amiss the bridal throng 
Marked in brief mirth or musing long; 
The vacant brow, the unlistening ear. 
They gave to thoughts of raptures near, 
And his fierce starts of sudden glee 
Seemed bursts of bridegroom's ecstasy. 
Nor thus alone misjudged the crowd. 
Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud, 
And jealous of his honored line, " 
And that keen knight, De Argentine — 
From England sent on errand high 
The western league more firm to tie — 
Both deemed in Ronald's mood to find 
A lover's transport-troubled mind. 
But one sad heart, one tearful eye, 
Pierced deeper through the mystery, 
And watched with agony and fear 
Her wayward bridegroom's varied cheer. 



She watched — yet feared to meet his glance, 
And he shunned hers ; —till when by chance 



They met, the point of foeman's lance 

Had given a milder pang! 
Beneath the intolerable smart 
He writhed; — then sternly manned his 

heart 
To play his hard but destined part. 

And from the table sprang. 
' Fill me the mighty cup,' he said, 
' trst owned by royal Somerled ! 
Fill it, till on the studded brim 
In burning gold the bubbles swim, 
And every gem of varied shine 
Glow doubly bright in rosy wine ! 

To you, brave lord, and brother mine. 
Of Lorn, this pledge I drink — 

The Union of Our House with thine. 
By this fair bridal-link ! ' 



' Let it pass round ! ' quoth he of Lorn, 
' And in good time — that winded horn 

Must of the abbot tell ; 
The laggard monk is come at last.' 
Lord Ronald heard the bugle-blast. 
And on the floor at random cast 

The untasted goblet fell. 
But when the warder in his ear 
Tells other news, his blither cheer 

Returns like sun of May 
When thi-ough a thunder-cloud it beams ! 
Lord of two hundred isles, he seems 

As glad of brief delay 
As some poor criminal might feel 
When from the gibbet or the wheel 

Respited for a day. 



' Brother of Lorn,' with hurried voice 
He said, 'and you, fair lords, rejoice! 

Here, to augment our glee. 
Come wandering knights from travel far, 
Well proved, they say, in strife of war 

And tempest on the sea. — 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



?>77 



Ho ! give them at your board such place 
As best their presences may grace, 

And bid them welcome free ! ' 
With solemn step and silver wand, 
The seneschal the presence scanned 
Of these strange guests, and well he knew 
How to assign their rank its due ; 

For though the costly furs 
That erst had decked their caps were torn, 
And their gay robes were over-worn, 

And soiled their gilded spurs, 
Yet such a high commanding grace 
Was in their mien and in their face 
As suited best the princely dais 

And royal canopy ; 
And there he marshalled them their place, 

First of that company. 



Then lords and ladies spake aside, 
And angry looks the error chide 
That gave to guests unnamed, unknown, 
A place so near their prince's throne ; 

But Owen Erraught said, 
* For forty years a seneschal, 
To marshal guests in bower and hall 

Has been my honored trade. 
Worship and birth to me are known, 
By look, by bearing, and by tone, 
Not by furred robe or broidered zone ; 

And 'gainst an oaken bough 
I '11 gage my silver wand of state 
That these three strangers oft have sate 

In higher place than now.' 



' I too,' the aged Ferrand said, 
' Am qualified by minstrel trade 

Of rank and place to tell ; — 
Marked ye the younger stranger's eye. 
My mates, how quick, hovvkeen, how high, 

How fierce its flashes f^l. 
Glancing among the noble rout 
As if to seek the noblest out. 
Because the owner might not brook 
On any save his peers to look ? 

And yet it moves me more. 
That steady, calm, majestic brow. 
With which the elder chief even now 

Scanned the gay presence o'er, 
Like being of superior kind. 
In whose high-toned impartial mind 
Degrees of mortal rank and state 
Seem objects of indifferent weight. 

The lady too — though closely tied 
The mantle veil both face and eye. 

Her motions' grace it could not hide. 
Nor cloud her form's fair symmetry.' 



Suspicious doubt and lordly scorn 
Loured on the haughty front of Lorn. 
From underneath his brows of pride 
The stranger guests he sternly eyed, 
And whispered closely what the ear 
Of Argentine alone might hear; 

Then questioned, high and brief. 
If in their voyage aught they knew 
Of the rebellious Scottish crew 
Who to Rath-Erin's shelter drew 

With Carrick's outlawed Chief ? 
And if, their winter's exile o'er. 
They harbored still by Ulster's shore. 
Or launched their galleys on the main 
To vex their native land again } 



That younger stranger, fierce and high, 
At once confronts the chieftain's eye 

With look of equal scorn : 
' Of rebels have we naught to show ; 
But if of royal Bruce thou 'dst know, 

I warn thee he has sworn. 
Ere thrice three days shall come and go, 
His banner Scottish winds shall blow, 
Despite each mean or mighty foe. 
From England's every bill and bow 

To Allaster of Lorn.' 
Kindled the mountain chieftain's ire. 
But Ronald quenched the rising fire : 
'Brother, it better suits the time 
To chase the night with Ferrand's rhyme 
Than wake midst mirth and wine the jars 
That flow from these unhappy wars.' 
' Content,' said Lorn ; and spoke apart 
With Ferrand, master of his art, 

Then whispered Argentine, 
' The lay I named will carry smart 
To these bold strangers' haughty heart. 

If right this guess of mine.' 
He ceased, and it was silence all 
Until the minstrel waked the hall. 



2ri)c Broodj of ILoni. 

' Whence the brooch of burning gold 
That clasps the chieftain's mantle-fold. 
Wrought and chased with rare device. 
Studded fair with gems of price. 
On the varied tartans beaming. 
As, through night's pale rainbow gleaming, 
Fainter now, now seen afar. 
Fitful shines the northern star ? 

' Gem ! ne'er wrought on Highland moun- 
tain. 
Did the fairy of the fountain 



37^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Or the mermaid of the wave 
Frame thee in some coral cave ? 
Did, in Iceland's darksome mine, 
Dwarf's swart hands thy metal twine ? 
Or, mortal-moulded, comest thou here 
From England's love or France's fear ? 

XII. 

Sang (JDontinurt. 

< No ! — thy splendors nothing tell 
T'oreign art or faery spell. 
Moulded thou for monarch's use. 
By the overweening Bruce, 
When the royal robe lie tied 
O'er a heart of wrath and pride : 
Thence in triumph wert thou torn 
By the victor hand of Lorn ! 

'■ When the gem was won and lost. 
Widely was the war-cry tossed ! 
Rung aloud Bendourish fell, 
Answered Douchart's sounding dell. 
Fled the deer from wild Teyndrum, 
When the homicide o'ercome 
Hardly 'scaped with scathe and scorn. 
Left the pledge with conquering Lorn ! 



Song (Conrluticti. 

' Vain was then the Douglas brand, 
Vain the Campbell's vaunted hand, 
Vain Kirkpatrick's bloody dirk. 
Making sure of murder's work ; 
Barendown tied fast away. 
Fled the fiery De la Haye, 
When this brooch triumphant borne 
Beamed upon the breast of Lorn. 

' Farthest fled its former lord. 
Left his men to brand and cord. 
Bloody brand of Highland steel, 
English gibbet, axe, and wheel. 
Let him fly from coast to coast. 
Dogged by Comyn's vengeful ghost, 
While his spoils in triumph worn 
Long shall grace victorious Lorn ! ' 



As glares' the tiger on his foes. 
Hemmed in by hunters, spears, and bows, 
And, ere he bounds upon the ring, 
Selects the object of his spring, — 
Now on the bard, now on his lord. 
So Edward glared and grasped his sword - 
But stern his brother spoke, 'Be still. 
What ! art thou yet so wild of will. 
After high deeds and sufferings long. 
To chafe thee for a menial's song? — 



Well hast thou framed, old man, thy strains, 

To praise the hand that pays thy pains ! 

Yet something might thy song have told 

Of Lorn's three vassals, true and bold. 

Who rent their lord from Bruce's hold 

As underneath his knee he lay. 

And died to save him in the fray. 

I 've heard the Bruce's cloak and clasp 

Was clenched within their dying grasp. 

What time a hundred foemen more 

Rushed in and back the victor bore. 

Long after Lorn had left the strife. 

Full glad to 'scape with limb and life. — 

Enough of this — and, minstrel, hold 

As minstrel-hire this chain of gold. 

For future lays a fair excuse 

To speak more nobly of the Bruce. ' — 



' Now, by Columba's shrine, I swear, 
And every saint that 's buried there, 
'T is he himself ! ' Lorn sternly cries, 
' And for my kinsman's death he dies.' 
As loudly Ronald calls, ' Forbear ! 
Not in my sight while brand I wear, 
O'ermatched by odds, shall warrior fall. 
Or blood of stranger stain my hall ! 
This ancient fortress of my race 
Shall be misfortune's resting-place. 
Shelter and shield of the distressed, 
No slaughter-house for shipwrecked guest." 
' Talk not to me,' fierce Lorn replied, 
' Of odds or match ! — when Comyn died, 
Three daggers clashed within his side ! 
Talk not to me of sheltering hall. 
The Church of God saw Comyn fall ! 
On God's own altar streamed his blood. 
While o'er my prostrate kinsman stood 
The ruthless murderer — e'en as now — 
With armed hand and scornful brow ! — 
Up, all who love me ! blow on blow ! 
And lay the outlawed felons low ! ' 



Then up sprang many a mainland lord. 
Obedient to their chieftain's word. 
Barcaldine's arm is high in air, 
And Kinloch-Alline's blade is bare. 
Black Murthok's dirk has left its sheath, 
And clenched is Dermid's hand of death. 
Their muttered threats of vengeance swell 
Into a wild and warlike yell ; 
Onward they press with weapons high. 
The affrighted females shriek and fly. 
And, Scotland, then thy brightest ray 
Had darkened ere its noon of day, 
But every chief of birth and fame 
That from the Isles of Ocean came 
At Ronald's side that hour withstood 
Fierce Lorn's relentless thirst for blood. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



379 




Brave Torquil from Dunvegan high, 
Lord of the misty hills of Skye, 
Mac-Niel, wild Bara's ancient thane. 
Duart of bold Clan-Gillian's strain. 
Fergus of Canna's castled bay, 
Mac-Duffith, Lord of Colonsay, 
Soon as they saw the broadswords glance. 
With ready weapons rose at once, 
More prompt that many an ancient feud, 
Full oft suppressed, full oft renewed, 
Glowed 'twixt the chieftains of Argyle. 
And many a lord of ocean's isle. 
Wild was the scene — each sword was bare, 
Back streamed each chieftain's shaggy hair, 
In gloomy opposition set. 
Eyes, hands, and brandished weapons met; 
Blue gleaming o'er the social board. 
Flashed to the torches many a sword: 
And soon those bridal lights may shine 
On purple blood for rosy wine. 



While thus for blows and death prepared, 
Each heart was up, each weapon bared, 
Each foot advanced, — a surly pause 
Still reverenced hospitable laws. 
All menaced violence, but alike 
Reluctant each the first to strike — 
For aye accursed in minstrel line 
Is he who brawls mid song and wine, 



And, matched in numbers and in might, 
Doubtful and desperate seemed the fight. 
Thus threat and murmur died away, 
Till on the crowded hall there lay 
Such silence as the deadly still 
Ere bursts the thunder on the hill. 
With blade advanced, each chieftain bold 
Showed like the Sworder's form of old, 
As wanting still the torch of life 
To wake the marble into strife 



That awful pause the stranger maid 

And Edith seized to pray for aid. 

As to De Argentine she clung, 

Away her veil the stranger flung. 

And, lovely mid her wild despair, 

Fast streamed her eyes, wide flowed her 

hair: 
' O thou, of knighthood once the flower, 
Sure refuge in distressful hour, 
Thou who in Judah well hast fought 
For our dear faith and oft hast sought 
Renown in knightly exercise 
When this poor hand has dealt the prize. 
Say, can thy soul of honor brook 
On the unequal strife to look. 
When, butchered thus in peaceful hall, 
Those once thy friends, my brethren, fall ! ' 
To Argentine she turned her word, 
But her eye sought the Island Lord. 



?8o 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



A flush like evening's setting flame 
Glowed on his cheek; his hardy frame 
As with a brief convulsion shook : 
With hurried voice and eager look, 
' Fear not,' he said, 'my Isabel ! 
What said I — Edith ! — all is well — 
Nay, fear not — I will well provide 
The safety of my lovely bride — 
My bride ? ' • — but there the accents clung 
In tremor to his falterina: tongue. 



Now rose De Argentine to claim 
The prisoners in his sovereign's name 
To England's crown, who, vassals sworn, 
'Gainst their liege lord had weapon borne — 
Such speech, I ween, was but to hide 
His care their safety to provide; 
For knight more true in thought and deed 
Than Argentine ne'er spurred a steed — 
And Ronald who his meaning guessed 
Seemed half to sanction the request. 
This purpose fiery Torcjuil broke : 
• Somewhat we 've heard of England's yoke.' 
He said, 'and in our islands Fame 
Hath whispered of a lawful claim 
That calls the Bruce fair Scotland's lord, 
Though dispossessed by foreign sword. 
This craves reflection — but though right 
And just the charge of England's Knight, 
Let England's crown her rebels seize 
Where she has power : — in towers like 

these. 
Midst Scottish chieftains summoned here 
To bridal mirth and bridal cheer, 
Be sure, with no consent of mine 
Shall either Lorn or Argentine 
With chains or violence, in our sight, 
Oppress a brave and banished knight." 



Then waked the wild debate again 
With brawling threat and clamor vain. 
Vassals and menials thronging in 
Lent their brute rage to swell the din ; 
When far and wide a bugle-clang 
From the dark ocean upward rang. 
' The abbot comes ! ' they cry at once, 
' The holy man, whose favored glance 

Hath sainted visions known; 
Angels have met him on the way, 
Beside the blessed martyr's bay, 

And by Columba's stone. 
His monks have heard their hymnings high 
Sound from the summit of Dun-Y, 

To cheer his penance lone. 
When at each cross, on girth and wold — 
Their number thrice a hundred-fold — 
His prayer he made, his beads he told. 

With Aves many a one — 



He comes our feuds to reconcile, 
A sainted man from sainted isle ; 
We will his holy doom abide. 
The abbot shall our strife decide." 



Scarcely this fair accord was o'er 
When through the wide revolving door 

The black-stoled brethren wind ; 
Twelve sandalled monks who relics bore, 
With many a torch-bearer before 

And many a cross behind. 
Then sunk each fierce uplifted hand, 
And dagger bright and flashing brand 

Dropped swiftly at the sight; 
They vanished from the Churchman's eye, 
As shooting stars that glance and die 

Dart from the vault of nisht. 



The abbot on the threshold stood. 

And in his hand the holy rood ; 

Back on his shoulders flowed his hood. 

The torch's glaring ray 
Showed in its red and flashing light 
His withered cheek and amice white. 
His blue eye glistening cold and bright. 

His tresses scant and gray. 
' Fair Lords,' he said, ' Our Lady's love. 
And peace be with you from above, 

And Benedicite! — 
But what means this .'' — no peace is here ! 
Do dirks unsheathed suit bridal cheer? 

Or are these naked brands 
A seemly show for Churchman's sight 
When he comes summoned to unite 

Betrothed hearts and hands ? ' 



Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal. 
Proud Lorn first answered the appeal : 

' Thou com'st, O holy man, 
True sons of blessed church to greet. 
But little deeming here to meet 

A wretch beneath the ban 
Of Pope and Church for murder done 
Even on the sacred altar-stone — 
Well mayst thou wonder we should know 
Such miscreant here, nor lay him low. 
Or dream of greeting, peace, or truce. 
With excommunicated Bruce ! 
Yet well I grant, to end debate. 
Thy sainted voice decide his fate.' 



Then Ronald pled the stranger's cause. 
And knighthood's oath and honor's laws: 
And Isabel on bended knee 
Brought prayers and tears to back the plea ; 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



!8l 



And Edith lent her generous aid, 
And wept, and Lorn for mercy prayed. 
' Hence,' he exclaimed, 'degenerate maid 
Was 't not enough to Ronald's bower 
I brought thee, like a paramour. 
Or bond-maid at her master's gate, 
His careless cold approach to wait? — 
But the bold Lord of Cumberland, 
The gallant Clifford, seeks thy hand ; 
His it shall be — Nay, no reply ! 
Hence ! till those rebel eyes be dry.' 
With grief the abbot heai^d and saw, 
Yet naught relaxed his brow of awe. 



Where "s Nigel Bruce ? and De la Haye, 
And valiant Seton — where are they? 
Where Somerville, the kind and free? 
And Fraser, flower of chivalry ? 
Have they not been on gibbet bound, 
Their quarters flung to hawk and hound, 
And hold we here a cold debate 
To yield more victims to their fate ? 
What ! can the English Leopard's mood 
Never be gorged with northern blood ? 
Was not the life of Athole shed 
To soothe the tyrant's sickened bed ** 
And must his word till dying day 




XXVI. 

Then Argentine, in England's name, 
So highly urged his sovereign's claim 
He waked a spark that long suppressed 
Had smouldered in Lord Ronald's breast ; 
And now, as from the flint the lire, 
Flashed forth at once his generous ire. 
' Enough of noble blood,' he said, 
' By English Edward had been shed. 
Since matchless Wallace first had been 
In mockery crowned with wreaths of green, 
And done to death by felon hand 
For guard ins: well his father's land. 



Be naught but quarter, hang, and slay ! — • 
Thou frown'st, De Argentine, — my gage 
Is prompt to prove the strife I wage.' 



' Nor deem,' said stout Dunvegan's knight 

' That thou shalt brave alone the fight ! 

By saints of isle and mainland both. 

By Woden wild — my grandsire's oath — • 

Let Rome and England do their worst, 

Howe'er attainted or accursed. 

If Bruce shall e'er find friends again 

Once more to brave a battle-plain, 



382 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



If Douglas couch again his lance, 

Or Randolph dare another chance, 

Old Torquil will not be to lack 

With twice a thousand at his back. — 

Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold, 

Good abbot ! for thou know'st of old, 

Torquil's rude thought and stubborn will 

Smack of the wild Norwegian still : 

Nor will I barter Freedom's cause 

For England's wealth or Rome's applause.' 

XXVIII. 

The abbot seemed with eye severe 

The hardy chieftain's speech to hear ; 

Then on King Robert turned the monk, 

But twice his courage came and sunk. 

Confronted with the hero's look ; 

Twice fell his eye, his accents shook ; 

At length, resolved in tone and brow. 

Sternly he questioned him — ' And thou, 

Unhappy ! what hast thou to plead. 

Why I denounce not on thy deed 

That awful doom which canons tell 

Shuts paradise and opens hell ; 

Anathema of power so dread 

It blends the living with the dead. 

Bids each good angel soar away 

And every ill one claim his prey ; 

Expels thee from. the church's care 

And deafens Heaven against thy prayer ; 

Arms every hand against thy life. 

Bans all who aid thee in the strife, 

Nay, each whose succor, cold and scant, 

With meanest alms relieves thy want ; 

Haunts thee while living, — and when dead 

Dwells on thy yet devoted head. 

Rends Honor's scutcheon from thy hearse, 

Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse. 

And spurns thy corpse from hallowed 

ground, 
Flung like vile carrion to the hound : 
Such is the dire and desperate doom 
For sacrilege, decreed by Rome ; 
And such the well-deserved meed 
Of thine unhallowed, ruthless deed.' 



' Abbot ! ' the Bruce replied, ' thy charge 

It boots not to dispute at large. 

This much, howe'er, I bid thee know, 

No selfish vengeance dealt the blow. 

For Comyn died his country's foe. 

Nor blame I friends whose ill-timed speed 

Fulfilled my soon-repented deed. 

Nor censure those from whose stern tongue 

The dire anathema has rung. 

I only blame mine own wild ire, 

By Scotland's wrongs incensed to fire. 

Heaven knows my purpose to atone, 

Far as I mav, the evil done, 



And hears a penitent's appeal 
From papal curse and prelate's zeal. 
My first and dearest task achieved. 
Fair Scotland from her thrall relieved, 
Shall many a priest in cope and stole 
Say requiem for Red Comyn's soul, 
While I the blessed cross advance 
And expiate this unhappy chance 
In Palestine with sword and lance. 
But, while content the Church should know 
My conscience owns the debt I owe, 
Unto De Argentine and Lorn 
The name of traitor I return. 
Bid them defiance stern and high, 
And give them in their throats the lie ! 
These brief words spoke, I speak no more. 
Do what thou wilt ; my shrift is o'er.' 



Like man by prodigy amazed, 
LTpon the king the abbot gazed ; 
Then o'er his pallid features glance 
Convulsions of ecstatic trance. 
His breathing came more thick and fast, 
And from his pale blue eyes were cast 
Strange rays of wild and wandering light; 
Uprise his locks of 'silver white. 
Flushed is his brow, through every vein 
In azure tide the currents strain. 
And undistinguished accents broke 
The awful silence ere he spoke. 



' De Bruce ! I rose with purpose dread 

To speak my curse upon thy head, 

And give thee as an outcast o'er 

To hmi who burns to shed thy gore ; — ■ 

But, like the Midianite of old 

Who stood on Zophim, Heaven-controlled. 

I feel within mine aged breast 

A power that will not be repressed. 

It prompts my voice, it swells my veins. 

It burns, it maddens, it constrains ! — 

De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow 

Hath at God's altar slain thy foe : 

O'ermastered yet by high behest, 

I bless thee, and thou shalt be blessed ! " 

He spoke, and o'er the astonished throng 

Was silence, awful, deep, and long. 

XXXII. 

Again that light has fired his eye. 
Again his form swells bold and high, 
The broken voice of age is gone, 
'T is vigorous manhood's lofty tone : 
' Thrice vanquished on the battle-plain, 
Thy followers slaughtered, fled, or ta'en, 
A hunted wanderer on the wild. 
On foreign shores a man exiled, 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



383 



Disowned, deserted, and distressed, 
I bless thee, and thou shalt be blessed ! 
Blessed in the hall and in the field. 
Under the mantle as the shield. 
Avenger of thy country's shame, 
Restorer of her injured fame, 
Blessed in thy sceptre and thy sword, 
De Bruce, fair Scotland's rightful lord. 
Blessed in thy deeds and in thy fame. 
What lengthened honors wait thy name 
In distant ages sire to son 
Shall tell thy tale of freedom won. 
And teach his infants in the use 
Of earliest speech to falter Bruce. 
Go, then, triumphant ! sweep along 



Thy course, the theme of many a song ! 
The Power whose dictates swell my breast 
Hath blessed thee, and thou shalt be 

blessed ! — 
Enough — my short-lived strength decays. 
And sinks the momentary blaze. — 
Heaven hath our destined purpose broke. 
Not here must nuptial vow be spoke ; 
Brethren, our errand here is o'er. 
Our task discharged. — Unmoor, unmoor ! " 
His priests received the exhausted monk, 
As breathless in their arms he sunk. 
Punctual his orders to obey. 
The train refused all longer stay, 
Embarked, raised sail, and bore away. 



(!L\iZ EortJ 0f tfje Bles. 



CANTO THIRD. 



Hast thou not marked when o'er thy startled head 
Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has rolled, . 
How, when its echoes fell, a silence dead 
Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold } 
The rye-grass shakes not on the sod-built fold. 
The rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still, 
The wall-flower waves not on the ruined hold. 
Till, murmuring distant first, then near and shrill. 
The savage whirlwind wakes and sweeps the groaning hill. 



Artornish I such a silence sunk 
Upon thy halls, when that gray monk 

His prophet-speech had spoke ; 
And his obedient brethren's sail 
Was stretched to meet the southern gale 

Before a whisper woke. 
Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear. 
Close poured in many an anxious ear. 

The solemn stillness broke ; 
And still they gazed with eager guess 
Where in an oriel's deep recess 
The Island Prince seemed bent to press 
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer 
And gesture fierce, scarce deigned to hear. 



Starting at length with frowning look, 
His hand he clenched, his head he shook. 

And sternly flung apart : 
' And deem'st thou me so mean of mood 
As to forget the mortal feud. 
And clasp the hand with blood imbrued 

From my dear kinsman's heart ? 



Is this thy rede .? — a due return 

For ancient league and friendship sworn ! 

But well our mountain proverb shows 

The faith of Islesmen ebbs and flows. 

Be it even so — believe ere long 

He that now bears shall wreak the vv^rong. — 

Call Edith — call the Maid of Lorn ! 

My sister, slaves ! — for further scorn, 

Be sure nor she nor I will stay. — 

Away, De Argentine, away ! — 

We nor ally nor brother know 

In Bruce's friend or England's foe.' 



But who the chieftain's rage can tell 
When, sought from lowest dungeon cell 
To highest tower the castle round, 
No Lady Edith was there found ! 
He shouted, ' Falsehood ! — treachery ! - 
Revenge and blood ! — a lordly meed 
To him that will avenge the deed ! 
A baron's lands ! ' — His frantic mood 
Was scarcely by the news withstood 
That Morag shared his sister's flight. 
And that in hurry of the night, 



384 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'Scaped noteless and without remark, 
Two strangers sought the abbot's bark. — 
' Man every galley ! — fly — pursue ! 
The priest his treachery shall rue ! 
Ay, and the time shall quickly come 
When we shall hear the thanks that Rome 
Will pay his feigned prophecy ! ' 
Such was tierce Lorn's indignant cry ; 
And Cormac Doil in haste obeyed, 
Hoisted his sail, his anchor weighed — 
For, glad of each pretext for spoil, 
A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil. 
But others, lingering, spoke apart, 
' The maid has given her maiden heart 

To Ronald of the Isles, 
And, fearful lest her brother's word 
Bestow her on that English lord. 

She seeks lona's piles, 
And wisely deems it best to dwell 
A votaress in the holy cell 
Until these feuds so fierce and fell 

The abbot reconciles.' 



As, impotent of ire, the hall 
Echoed to Lorn's impatient call — 
' My horse, my mantle, and my train ! 
Let none who honors Lorn remain ! ' — 
Courteous but stern, a bold request 
To Bruce De Argentine expressed: 
* Lord Earl,' he said, ' I cannot chuse 
But yield such title to the Bruce. 
Though name and earldom both are gone 
Since he braced rebel's armor on — 
But, earl or serf — rude phrase was thine 
Of late, and launched at Argentine ; 
Such as compels me to demand 
Redress of honor at thy hand. 
We need not to each, other tell 
That both can wield their weapons well ; 
Then do me but the soldier grace 
This glove upon thy helm to plac 

Where we may meet in fight ; 
And I will say, as still I 've said. 
Though by ambition far misled. 
Thou art a noble knight.' 



' And I,' the princely Bruce replied, 
' Might term it stain on knighthood's pride 
That the bright sword of Argentine 
Should in a tyrant's quarrel shine ; 

But, for your brave request, 
Be sure the honored pledge you gave 
In every battle-field shall wave 

Upon my helmet-crest ; 
Believe that if my hasty tongue 
Hath done thine honor causeless wrong. 

It shall be well redressed. 



Not dearer to my soul was glove 
Bestowed in youth by lady's love 

Than this which thou hast given ! 
Thus then my noble foe I greet ; 
Health and high fortune till we meet, 

And then — what pleases Heaven.' 



Thus parted they — for now, with sound 
Like waves rolled back from rocky ground. 

The friends of Lorn retire ; 
Each mainland chieftain with his train 
Draws to his mountain towers again. 
Pondering how mortal schemes prove vain 
, And mortal hopes expire. 
But through the castle double guard 
Ry Ronald's charge kept wakeful ward. 
Wicket and gate were trebly barred 

By beam and bolt and chain ; 
Then of the guests in courteous sort 
He prayed excuse for mirth broke short, 
And bade them in Artornish fort 

In confidence remain. 
Now torch and menial tendance led 
Chieftain and knight to bower and bed, 
And beads were told and Aves said. 

And soon they sunk away 
Into such sleejD as wont to shed 
Oblivion on the weary head 

After a toilsome day. 



But soon uproused, the monarch cried 
To Edward slumbering by his side, 

' Awake, or sleep for aye ! 
Even now there jarred a secret door — 
A taper-light gleams on the floor — 

Up, Edward ! up, I say ! 
Some one glides in like midnight ghost — 
Nay, strike not ! 't is our noble host.' 
Advancing then his taper's flame, 
Ronald stept forth, and with him came 

Dunvegan's chief — each bent the knee 

To Bruce in sign of fealty 
And proffered him his sword. 

And hailed him in a monarch's style 

As king of mainland and of isle 
And Scotland's rightful lord. 
'And O,' said Ronald,"' Owned of Heaven I 
Say, is my erring youth forgiven. 
By falsehood's arts from duty driven. 

Who rebel falchion drew, 
Yet ever to thy deeds of fame, 
Even while I strove against thy claim. 

Paid homage just and true ? ' — 
' Alas ! dear youth, the unhappy time," 
Answered the Bruce, ' must bear the crime 

Since, guiltier far than you. 
Even I ' — he paused ; for Falkirk's woes 
Upon his conscious soul arose. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



38; 



The chieftain to his breast he pressed, 
And in a si^h concealed the rest. 



They proffered aid by arms and might 

To repossess him in his right ; 

But well their counsels must be weighed 

Ere banners raised and musters made, 

For English hire and Lorn's intrigues 

Bound many chiefs in southern leagues. 

In answer Bruce his purpose bold 

To his new vassals frankly told : 

' The winter worn in exile o'er, 

I longed for Carrick's kindred shore. 

I thought upon my native Ayr 

And longed to see the burly fare 

That Clifford makes, whose lordly call 

Now echoes through my father's hall. 

But first my course to Arran led 

Where valiant Lennox gathers head, 

And on the sea by tempest tossed, 

Our barks dispersed, our purpose crossed. 

Mine own, a hostile sail to shun, 

Far from her destined course had run, 

When that wise will which masters ours 

Compelled us to your friendly towers.' 



Then Torquil spoke : ' The time craves 

speed ! 
We must not linger in our deed, 
But instant pray our sovereign liege 
To shun the perils of a siege. 
The vengeful Lorn with all his powers 
Lies but too near Artornish towers. 
And England's light-armed vessels ride 
Not distant far the waves of Clyde, 
Prompt at these tidings to unmoor, 
And sweep each strait and guard each 

shore. 
Then, till this fresh alarm pass by. 
Secret and safe my liege must lie 
In the far bounds of friendly Skye, 
Torquil thy pilot and thy guide.' — 
' Not so, brave chieftain,' Ronald cried ; 
' Myself will on my sovereign wait, 
And raise in arms the men of Sleate, 
Whilst thou, renowned where chiefs debate, 
Shalt sway their souls by council sage 
And awe them by thy locks of age.' — 
' And if my words in weight shall fail, 
This ponderous sword shall turn the scale.' 



' The scheme,' said Bruce, ' contents me 

well ; 
Meantime, 't were best that Isabel 
For safety with my bark and crew 



Again to friendly Erin drew. 
There Edward too shall with her wend, 
In need to cheer her and defend 
And muster up each scattered friend." 
Here seemed it as Lord Ronald's ear 
Would other counsel gladlier hear; 
But, all achieved as soon as planned, 
Both barks, in secret armed and manned. 

From out the haven bore ; 
On different voyage forth they ply, 
This for the coast of winged Skye 

And that for Erin's shore. 



With Bruce and Ronald bides the tale. — 
To favoring winds they gave the sail 
Till Mull's dark headlands scarce they knew 
And Ardnamurchan's hills were blue. 
But then the squalls blew close and hard. 
And, fain to strike the galley's yard 

And take them to the oar. 
With these rude seas in weary plight 
They strove the livelong day and night, 
Nor till the dawning had a sight 
Of Skye's romantic shore. 
Where Coolin stoops him to the west, 
They saw upon his shivered crest 

The sun's arising gleam: 
But such the labor and delay, 
Ere they were moored in Scavigh bay — 
For calmer heaven compelled to stay — 

He shot a western beam. 
Then Ronald said, ' If true mine eye. 
These are the savage wilds that lie 
North of Strathnardill and Dunskye ; 

No human foot comes here, 
And, since these adverse breezes blow. 
If my good liege love hunter's bow. 
What hinders that on land we go 

And strike a mountain-deer? 
Allan, my page, shall with us wend ; 
A bow full deftly can he bend. 
And, if we meet a herd, may send 

A shaft shall mend our cheer.' 
Then each took bow and bolts in hand. 
Their row-boat launched and leapt to land. 

And left their skiff and train, 
Where a wild stream with headlong shock 
Came brawling clown its bed of rock 

To minsfle with the main. 



Awhile their route they silent made, 

As men who stalk for mountain-deer, 
Till the good Bruce to Ronald said, — 
' Saint Mary ! what a scene is here ! 
I 've traversed many a mountain-strand. 
Abroad and in my native land. 
And it has been my lot to tread 



;86 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Where safety more than pleasure led ; 
Thus, many a waste 1 've wandered o'er, 
Clomb many a crag, crossed many a moor, 

But, by my halidome, 
A scene so rude, so wild as this. 
Yet so sublime in barrenness. 
Ne'er did my wandering footsteps press 

Where'er I happed to roam.' 



No marvel thus the monarch spake ; 

For rarely human eye has known 
A scene so stern as that dread lake 

With its dark ledge of barren stone. 
Seems that primeval earthquake's sway 
Hath rent a strange and shattered way 

Through the rude bosom of the hill. 
And that each naked precipice. 
Sable ravine, and dark abyss, 

Tells of the outrage still. 
The wildest glen but this can show 
Some touch of Nature's genial glow ; 
On high Benmore green mosses grow, 
And heath-bells bud in deep Glencroe, 

And copse on Cruchan-Ben ; 
But here, — above, around, below. 

On mountain or in glen. 
Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower. 
Nor aught of vegetative power. 

The weary eye may ken. 
For all is rocks at random thrown. 
Black waves, bare crags, and banks of 
stone. 

As if were here denied 
The summer sun, the spring's sweet dew. 
That clothe with many a varied hue 

The bleakest mountain-side. 



And wilder, forward as they wound. 
Were the proud cliffs and lake profound. 
Huge terraces of granite black 
Afforded rude and cumbered track ; 

For from the mountain hoar. 
Hurled headlong in some night of fear. 
When yelled the wolf and fled the deer. 

Loose crags had toppled o'er; 
And some, chance-poised and balanced, lay 
So that a stripling arm might sway 

A mass no host could raise. 
In Nature's rage at random thrown 
Yet trembling like the Druid's stone 

On its precarious base. 
The evening mists with ceaseless change 
Now clothed the mountains' lofty range, 

Now left their foreheads bare. 
And round the skirts their mantle furled, 
Or on the sable waters curled, 
Or on the eddying breezes whirled. 

Dispersed in middle air. 



And oft condensed at once they lower 
When, brief and fierce, the mountain shower 

Pours like a torrent down. 
And when return the sun's glad beams. 
Whitened with foam a thousand streams 

Leap from the mountain's crown. 



' This lake,' said Bruce, whose barriers 

drear 
Are precipices sharp and sheer. 
Yielding no track for goat or deer 

Save the black shelves we tread, 
How term you its dark waves .'' and how 
Yon northern mountain's pathless brow. 

And yonder peak of dread 
That to the evening sun uplifts 
The griesly gulfs and slaty rifts 

Which seam its shivered head?' — 
' Coriskin call the dark lake's name, 
Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim. 
From old Cuchullin, chief of fame. 
But bards, familiar in our isles 
Rather with Nature's frowns than smiles. 
Full oft their careless humors please 
By sportive names from scenes like these. 
I would old Torquil were to show 
His Maidens with their breasts of snow. 
Or that my noble liege were nigh 
To hear his Nurse sing lullaby! — 
The Maids — tall cliffs with breakers white, 
The Nurse — a torrent's roaring might — 
Or that your eye could see the mood 
Of Corryvrekin's whirlpool rude. 
When dons the Hag her whitened hood — 
'T is thus our islesmen's fancy frames 
For scenes so stern fantastic names.' 



Answered the Bruce, ' And musing mind 

Might here a graver moral find. 

These mighty cliffs that heave on high 

Their naked brows to middle sky, 

Indifferent to the sun or snow. 

Where naught can fade and naught can 

blow, 
May they not mark a monarch's fate, — 
Raised high mid storms of strife and state, 
Beyond life's lowlier pleasures placed, 
His soul a rock, his heart a waste.'' 
O'er hope and love and fear aloft 
High rears his crowned head — But soft ! 
Look, underneath yon jutting crag 
Are hunters and a slaughtered stag. 
Who may they be } But late you said 
No steps these desert regions tread?' — 

XVIII. 

' So said I — and believed in sooth,' 
Ronald replied, ' I spoke the truth. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



387 




Yet now I spy, by yonder stone, 

Five men — they mark us and come on : 

And by their badge on bonnet borne 

I guess them of the land of Lorn, 

Foes to my liege.' — ' So let it be ; 

I 've faced worse odds than five to three — 

But the poor page can little aid ; 

Then be our battle thus arrayed, 

If our free passage they contest : 

Cope thou with two, I '11 match the rest.' — 

' Not so, my liege — for, by my life, 

This sword shall meet the treble strife ; 

My strength, my skill in arms, more small. 

And less the loss should Ronald fall. 

But islesmen soon to soldiers grow, 

Allan has sword as well as bow. 

And were my monarch's order given. 

Two shafts should make our number even.' — 

' No ! not to save my life ! ' he said ; 

' Enough of blood rests on my head 

Too rashly spilled — we soon shall know. 

Whether they come as friend or foe.' 



Nigh came the strangers and more nigh ; — 
Still less they pleased the monarch's eye. 
Men were they all of evil mien, 
Down-looked, unwilling to be seen ; 
They moved with half-resolved pace, 
And bent on earth each gloomy face. 
The foremost two were fair arrayed 



With brogue and bonnet, trews and plaid, 
And bore the arms of mountaineers, 
Daggers and broadswords, bows and spears. 
The three that lagged small space behind 
Seemed serfs of more degraded kind ; 
Goat-skins or deer-hides o'er them cast 
Made a rude fence against the blast ; 
Their arms and feet and heads were bare. 
Matted their beards, unshorn their hair; 
For arms the caitiffs bore in hand 
A club, an axe, a rusty brand. 



Onward still mute, they kept the track; — 
' Tell who ye be, or else stand back,' 
Said Bruce ; 'in deserts when they meet, 
Men pass not as in peaceful street.' 
Still at his stern command they stood. 
And proffered greeting brief and rude. 
But acted courtesy so ill 
As seemed of fear and not of will. 
' Wanderers we are, as you may be ; 
Men hither driven by wind and sea, 
Who, if you list to taste our cheer. 
Will share with you this fallow deer.' — 
' If from the sea, where lies your bark 1 ' — 
' Ten fathom deep in ocean dark ! 
Wrecked yesternight : but we are men 
Who little sense of peril ken. 
The shades come down — the day is shut — 
Will you go with us to our hut ? ' — 



388 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' Our vessel waits us in the bay ; 
Thanks for your proffer — have good-day.' — 
' Was that your galley, then, which rode 
Notfar from shore when evening glowed ? '_ — 
' It was.' — ' Then spare your needless pain, 
There will she now be sought in vain. 
We saw her from the mountain head 
When, with Saint George's blazon red 
A southern vessel bore in sight, 
And yours raised sail and took to flight.' — 

XXI. 

* Now, by the rood, unwelcome news ! ' 
Thus with Lord Ronald communed Bruce ; 

* Nor rests there light enough to show 
If this their tale be true or no. 

The men seem bred of churlish kind, 
Yet mellow nuts have hardest rind ; 
We will go with them — food and lire 
And sheltering roof our wants require. 
Sure guard 'gainst treachery will we keep, 
And watch by turns our comrades' sleep. — 
Good fellows, thanks ; your guests we '11 be. 
And well will pay the courtesy. 
Come, lead us where your lodging lies — 
Nay, soft ! we mix not companies. — 
Show us the path o'er crag and stone. 
And we will follow you ; — lead on.' 



They reached the dreary cabin, made 
Of sails against a rock displayed. 

And there on entering found 
A slender boy, whose form and mien 
111 suited with such savage scene. 
In cap and cloak of velvet green. 

Low seated on the gi-ound. 
His garb was such as minstrels wear. 
Dark was his hue, and dark his hair, 
His youthful cheek was marred by care, 

His eyes in sorrow drowned. 
' Whence this poor boy .^ ' — As Ronald 

spoke. 
The voice his trance of anguish broke ; 
As if awaked from ghastly dream, 
He raised his head with start and scream. 

And wildly gazed around : 
Then to the wall his face he turned. 
And his dark neck with blushes burned. 



'Whose is the boy?' again he said. 
' By chance of war our captivfe made ; 
He may be yours, if you should hold 
That music has more charms than gold : 
For, though from earliest childhood mute, 
The lad can deftly touch the lute, 
And on the rote and viol play. 
And well can drive the time away 



For those who love such glee ; 

For me the favoring breeze, when loud 

It pipes upon the galley's shroud. 
Makes blither melody.' — 
' Hath he, then, sense of spoken sound .^ ' — 

' Ay ; so his mother bade us know, 
A crone in our late shipwreck drowned. 

And hence the silly stripling's woe. 
More of the youth I cannot say, 
Our captive but since yesterday ; 
When wind and weather waxed so grim. 
We little listed think of him. — 
But why waste time in idle words ? 
Sit to your cheer — unbelt your swords.' 
Sudden the captive turned his head. 
And one quick glance to Ronald sped. 
It was a keen and warning look. 
And well the chief the signal took. 



' Kind host,' he said, 'our needs require 
A separate board and separate fire ; 
For know that on a pilgrimage 
Wend I, my comrade, and this page. 
And, sworn to vigil and to fast 
Long as this hallowed task shall last. 
We never doff the plaid or sword, 
Or feast us at a stranger's board. 
And never share one common sleep, 
But one must still his vigil keep. 
Thus, for our separate use, good friend, 
We '11 hold this hut's remoter end." — 
' A churlish vow,' the elder said, 
' And hard, methinks, to be obeyed. 
How say you, if, to wreak the scorn 
That pays our kindness harsh return. 
We should refuse to share our meal ? ' — 
' Then say we that our swords are steel ! 
And our vow binds us not to fast 
Where gold or force may buy repast.' — 
Their host's dark brow grew keen and fell. 
His teeth are clenched, his features swell ; 
Yet sunk the felon's moody ire 
Before Lord Ronald's glance of fire, 
Nor could his craven courage brook 
The monarch's calm and dauntless look. 
With laugh constrained — ' Let every man 
Follow the fashion of his clan ! 
Each to his separate c[uarters keep, 
And feed or fast, or wake or sleep.' 



Their fire at separate distance burns. 
By turns they eat, keep guard by turns : 
For evil seemed that old man's eye. 
Dark and designing, fierce yet shy. 
Still he avoided forward look. 
But slow and circumspectly took 
A circling, never-ceasing glance, 
By doubt and cunning marked at once. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



389 



Which shot a mischief-boding ray 
From imder eyebrows shagged and gray. 
The younger, too, who seemed his son. 
Had that dark look the timid shun ; 
The half-clad serfs behind them sate, 
And scowled a glare 'twixt fear and hate — 
Till all, as darkness onward crept. 
Couched down, and seemed to sleep or 

slept. 
Nor he, that boy, whose powerless tongue 
Must trust his eyes to wail his wrong, 
A longer watch of sorrow made, 
But stretched his limbs to slumber laid. 

XXVI. 

Not in his dangerous host confides 
The king, but wary watch provides. 
Ronald keeps ward till midnight past, 
Then wakes the king, young Allan last ; 
Thus ranked, to give the youthful page 
The rest required by tender age. 
What is Lord Ronald's wakeful thought 
To chase the languor toil had brought } — 
For deem not that he deigned to throw 
Much care upon such coward foe — 
He thinks of lovely Isabel 
When at her foeman's feet she fell. 
Nor less when, placed in princely selle, 
•She glanced on him with favoring eyes 
At Woodstock when he won the prize. 
Nor, fair in joy, in sorrow fair, 
In pride of place as mid despair, 



Must she alone engross his care. 
His thoughts to his betrothed bride, 
To Edith, turn — O, how decide, 
When here his love and heart are given, 
And there his faith stands plight to Heaven I 
No drowsy ward 'tis his to keep. 
For seldom lovers long for sleep. 
Till sung his midnight hymn the owl, 
Answered the dog-fox with his howl, 
Then waked the king — at his request. 
Lord Ronald stretched himself to rest. 



What spell was good King Robert's, say, 

To drive the weary night away ? 

His was the patriot's burning thought 

Of freedom's battle bravely fought, 

Of castles stormed, of cities freed, 

Of deep design and daring deed, 

Of England's roses reft and torn. 

And Scotland's cross in triumph worn, 

Of rout and rally, war and truce, — 

As heroes think, so thought the Bruce. 

No marvel, mid such musings high 

Sleep shunned the monarch's thoughtful 

eye. 
Now over Coolin's eastern head 
The grayish light begins to spread, 
The otter to his cavern drew. 
And clamored shrill the wakening mew; 
Then watched the page — to needful rest 
The king resigned his anxious breast. 



;y:^^%* 





390 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



To Allan's eyes was harder task 
The weary watch their safeties ask. 
He trimmed the fire and gave to shine 
With bickering light the splintered pine; 
Then gazed awhile where silent laid 
Their hosts were shrouded by the plaid. 
But little fear waked in his mind, 
For he was bred of martial kind, 
And, if to manhood he arrive, 
May match the boldest knight alive. 
Then thought he of his mother's tower. 
His little sister's greenwood bower, 
How there the Easter-gambols pass, 
And of Dan Joseph's lengthened mass. 
But still before his weary eye 
In rays prolonged the blazes die — 
Again he roused him — on the lake 
Looked forth where now the twilight-flake 
Of pale cold dawn began to wake. 
On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furled, 
The morning breeze the lake had curled, 
The short dark waves, heaved to the land, 
With ceaseless plash kissed cliff or sand ; — 
It was a slumbrous sound — he turned 
To tales at which his youth had burned, 
Of pilgrim's path by demon crossed, 
Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost. 
Of the wild witch's baneful cot, 
And mermaid's alabaster grot. 
Who bathes her limbs in sunless well 
Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell. ' 
Thither in fancy rapt he flies. 
And on his sight the vaults arise ; 
That hut's dark walls he sees no more, 
His foot is on the marble floor. 
And o'er his head the dazzling spars 
Gleam like a firmament of stars ! — 
Hark ! hears he not the sea-nymph speak 
Her anger in that thrilling shriek ! — 
No ! all too late, with Allan's dream 
Mingled the captive's warning scream. 
As from the ground he strives to start, 
A ruffian's dagger finds his heart ! 
Upwards he casts his dizzy eyes — 
Murmurs his master's name — and dies ! 



Not so awoke the king ! his hand 
Snatched from the flame a knotted brand, 
The nearest weapon of his wrath ; 
With this he crossed the murderer's path 

And venged young Allan well ! 
The spattered brain and bubbling blood 
Hissed on the half-extinguished wood, 

The miscreant gasped and fell ! 
Nor rose in peace the Island Lord; 
One caitiff died upon his sword, 
And one beneath his grasp lies prone 



In mortal grapple overthrown. 
But while Lord Ronald's dagger drank 
The life-blood from his panting flank. 
The father-rufiian of the band 
Behind him rears a coward hand ! — 

O for a moment's aid, 
Till Bruce, who deals no double blow. 
Dash to the earth another foe. 

Above his comrade laid! — 
And it is gained — the captive sprung 
On the raised arm and closely clung, 

And, ere he shook him loose, 
The mastered felon pressed the ground. 
And gasped beneath a mortal wound, 

While o'er him stands the Bruce. 



' Miscreant ! while lasts thy flitting spark. 
Give me to know the purpose dark 
That armed thy hand with murderous knife 
Against offenceless stranger's life?' — 
' No stranger thou ! ' with accent fell, 
Murmured the wretch ; ' I know thee well, 
And know thee for the foeman sworn 
Of my high chief, the mighty Lorn.' — 
' Speak yet again, and speak the truth 
For thy soul's sake! — from whence this 

youth ? 
His country, birth, and name declare, 
And thus one evil deed repair.' — 
' Vex me no more ! — my blood runs cold — 
No more I know than I have told. 
We found him in a bark we sought 
With different purpose — and I thought ' — 
Fate cut him short; in blood and broil, 
As he had lived, died Cormac Doil. 



Tli^n resting on his bloody blade. 
The valiant Bruce to Ronald said, 
' Now shame upon us both ! — that boy 

Lifts his mute face to heaven 
And clasps his hands, to testify 
His gratitude to God on high 

For strange deliverance given. 
His speechless gesture thanks hath paid. 
Which our free tongues have left unsaid ! 
He raised the youth with kindly word. 
But marked him shudder at the sword : 
He cleansed it from its hue of death, 
And plunged the weapon in its sheath. 
' Alas, poor child ! unfitting part 
Fate doomed when with so soft a heart 

And form so slight as thine 
She made thee first a pirate's slave, 
Tlicn in his stead a patron gave 

Of wayward lot like mine ; 
A landless prince, whose wandering life 
Is but one scene of blood and strife — 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



391 



Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be, 
But he '11 find resting-place for thee. — 
Come, noble Ronald ! o'er the dead 
Enough thy generous grief is paid, 
And well has Allan's fate been wroke ; 
Come, wend we hence — the day has broke. 
Seek we our bark — I trust the tale 
Was false that she had hoisted sail." 

XXXII. 

Yet, ere they left that charnel-cell. 
The Island Lord bade sad farewell 
To Allan : ' Who shall tell this tale,' 
He said, ' in halls of Donagaile .-^ 
O, who his widowed mother tell 



That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell 'i — 
Rest thee, poor youth ! and trust my care 
For mass and knell and funeral prayer ; 
While o'er those caitiffs where they lie 
The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry ! ' 
And now the eastern mountain's head 
On the dark lake threw lustre red ; 
Bright gleams of gold and purple streak 
Ravine and precipice and peak — 
So earthly power at distance shows ; 
Reveals his splendor, hides his woes. 
O'er sheets of granite, dark and broad. 
Rent and unequal, lay the road. 
In sad discourse the warriors wind, 
And the mute captive moves behind. 



Wc^z iLorH of tlje Esles. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



Stranger ! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced 
The northern realms of ancient Caledon, 
Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed 
By lake and cataract her lonely throne, 
Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known. 
Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high. 
Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown 
Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry, 
And with the sounding lake and with the moaning sky. 



Yes ! 't was sublime, but sad. — The loneliness 
Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye ; 
And strange and awful fears began to press 
Thy bosom with a stern solemnity. 
Then hast thou wished some woodman's cottage nigh, 
Something that showed of life, though low and mean ; 
Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy. 
Glad sound, its cock's blithe carol would have been. 
Or children whooping wild beneath the willows green. 



Such are the scenes where savage grandeur wakes 
An awful thrill that softens into sighs ; 
Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's lakes, 
In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise : 
Or farther, where beneath the northern skies 
Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar — 
But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize 
Of desert dignity to that dread shore 
That sees grim Coolin rise and hears Coriskin roar. 



392 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Through such wild scenes the champio. 

passed, 
When bold halloo and bugle-blast 
Upon the breeze came loud and fast. 
'There,' said the Bruce, 'rung Edward's 

horn ! 
What can have caused such brief return ? 
And see, brave Ronald, — see him dart 
O'er stock and stone like hunted hart, 
Precipitate, as is the use. 
In war or sport, of Edward Bruce. 
He marks us, and his eager cry 
Will tell his news ere he be nigh.' 

III. 

Loud Edward shouts, ' What make ye here. 
Warring upon the mountain-deer. 

When Scotland wants her king ? 
A bark from Lennox crossed our track. 
With her in speed I hurried back. 

These joyful news to bring — 
The Stuart stirs in Teviotdale, 
And Douglas wakes his native vale ; 
Thy storm-tossed fleet hath won its way 
With little loss to Brodick-Bay, 
And Lennox with a gallant band 
Waits but thy coming and command 
To waft them o'er to Carrick strand. 
There are blithe news! — but mark the 

close ! 
Edward, tile deadliest of our foes. 
As with his host he northward passed. 
Hath on the borders breathed his last." 



Still stood the Bruce — his steady cheek 
Was little wont his joy to speak. 

But then his color rose : — 
' Now, Scotland ! shortly shalt thou see. 
With God's high will, thy children free 

And vengeance on thy foes ! 
Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs, 
Bear witness with me, Heaven, belongs 

My joy o'er Edward's bier ; 
I took my knighthood at his hand, 
And lordship held of him and land. 

And well may vouch it here. 
That, blot the story from his page 
Of Scotland ruined in his rage. 
You read a monarch brave and sage 

And to his people dear.' — 

• Let London's burghers mourn her lord 
/\nd Croydon monks his praise record,' 

The eager Edward said ; 

• Eternal as his own, my hate- 
Surmounts the bounds of mortal fate 

And dies not with the dead ! 
Such hate was liis on Solway's strand 



When vengeance clenched his palsied hand, 
That pointed yet to Scotland's land. 

As his last accents prayed 
Disgrace and curse upon his heir 
If he one Scottish head should spare 
Till stretched upon the bloody lair 

Each rebel corpse was laid ! 
Such hate was his when his last breath 
Renounced the peaceful house of death. 
And bade his bones to Scotland's coast 
Be borne by his remorseless host. 
As if his dead and stony eye 
Could still enjoy her misery ! 
Such hate was his — dark, deadly, long; 
Mine — as enduring, deep, and strong ! ' — 



' Let women, Edward, war with words. 
With curses monks, but men with swords : 
Nor doubt of living foes to sate 
Deepest revenge and deadliest hate. 
Now to the sea ! Behold the beach. 
And see the galley's pendants stretch 
Their fluttering length down favoring gale ! 
Aboard, aboaj-d ! and hoist the sail. 
Hold we our way for Arran first, 
Where meet in arms our friends dispersed : 
Lennox the loyal, De la Haye, 
And Boyd the bold in battle fray. 
I long the hardy band to head, 
And see once more my standard spread. — 
Does noble Ronald share our course. 
Or stay to raise his island force ? ' — 
' Come weal, come woe, by Bruce's side,' 
Replied the chief, ' will Ronald bide. 
And since two galleys yonder ride, 
Be mine, so please my liege, dismissed 
To wake to arms the clans of Uist, 
And all who hear the Minche's roar 
On the Long Island's lonely shore. 
The nearer Isles with slight delay 
Ourselves may summon in our way; 
And soon on Arran's shore shall meet 
With Torquil's aid a gallant fleet, 
If aught avails their chieftain's hest 
Among the islesmen of the west.' 



Thus was their venturous council said. 
But, ere their sails the galleys spread, 
Coriskin dark and Coolin high 
Echoed the dirge's doleful cry. 
Along that sable lake passed slow — 
Fit scene for such a sight of woe- — 
The sorrowing islesmen as they bore 
The murdered Allan to the shore. 
At every pause with dismal shout 
Their coronach of grief rung out. 
And ever when they moved again 
The pipes resumed their clamorous strain. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



393 




And with the pibroch's shrilling wail 
Mourned the young heir of Donagaile. 
Round and around, from cliff and cave 
His answer stern old Coolin gave, 
Till high upon his misty side 
Languished the mournful notes and died. 
For never sounds by mortal made 
Attained his high and haggard head, 
That echoes but the tempest's moan 
Or the deep thunder's rending groan. 



Merrily, merrily bounds the bark, 

She bounds before the gale. 
The mountain breeze from Ben-na-darch 

Is joyous in her sail ! 
With fluttering sound like laughter hoarse 

The cords and canvas strain. 
The waves, divided by her force. 
In rippling eddies chased her course, 

As if they laughed again. 
Not down the breeze more blithely flew. 
Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew 

Than the gay galley bore 
Her course upon that favoring wind, 
And Coolin's crest has sunk behind 

And Slapin's caverned shore. 
'T was then that warlike signals wake 
Dunscaith's dark towers and Eisord's lake, 
And soon from Cavilgarrigh's head 
Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were 
spread ; 



A summons these of war and wrath 
To the brave clans of Sleat and Strath, 

And ready at the sight 
Each warrior to his weapon sprung 
And targe upon his shoulder flung, 

Impatient for the fight. 
Mac-Kinnon's chief, in warfare gray. 
Had charge to muster their array 
And guide their barks to Brodick-Bay. 



Signal of Ronald's high command, 
A beacon gleamed o'er sea and land 
From Canna's tower, that, steep and gray, 
Like falcon-nest o'erhangs the bay. 
Seek not the giddy crag to climb 
To view the turret scathed by time; 
It is a task of doubt and fear 
To aught but goat or mountain-deer. 
■ But rest thee on the silver beach, 
And let the aged herdsman teach 

His tale of former day ; 
His cur's wild clamor he shall chide, 
And for thy seat by ocean's side 

His varied inlaid display; 
Then tell how with their chieftain came 
In ancient times a foreign dame 
To yonder turret gray. 
Stern was her lord's suspicious mind 
Who in so rude a jail confined 

So soft and fair a thrall ! 
And oft when moon on ocean slept 



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That lovely lady sate and wept 

Upon the castle-wall, 
And turned her eye to southern climes, 
And thought perchance of happier times. 
And touched her lute by fits, and sung 
Wild ditties in her native tongue. 
And still, when on the cliff and bay 
Placid and pale the moonbeams play 

And every breeze is mute 
Upon the lone Hebridean's ear 
Steals a strange pleasure mixed with fear, 
While from that cliff he seems to hear 

The murmur of a lute 
And sounds as of a captive lone 
That mourns her woes in tongue un- 
known. — 
Strange is the tale — but all too long 
Already hath it staid the song — 
. Yet who may pass them by, 
That crag and tower in ruins gray. 
Nor to their hapless tenant pay 

The tribute of a sigh ? 

IX. 

Merrily, merrily bounck the bark 

O'er the broad ocean driven, 
Her path by Renin's mountains dark 

The steersman's hand hath given. 
And Renin's mountains dark have sent 

Their hunters to the shore, 
And each his ashen bow unbent, 

And gave his pastime o'er, 
And at the Island Lord's command 
For hunting spear took warrior's brand. 
On Scooreigg next a warning light 
Summoned her warriors to the fight ; 
A numerous race ere stern MacLeod 
O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode, 
When all in vain the ocean-cave 
Its refuge to his victims gave. 
The chief, relentless in his wrath. 
With blazing heath blockades the path ; 
In dense and stifling volumes rolled, 
The vapor filled the caverned hold ! 
The warrior-threat, the infant's plain. 
The mother's screams. Were heard in vain; 
The vengeful chief maintains his fires 
Till in the vault a tribe expires ! 
The bones which strew that cavern's gloom 
. Too well attest their dismal doom. 



Merrily, merrily goes the bark 

On a breeze from the northward free. 

So shoots through the morning sky the 
lark, 
Or the swan through the summer sea. 

The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, 

And Ulva dark and Colonsay, 



And all the group of islets gay 

That guard famed Staffa round. 
Then all unknown its columns rose 
Where dark and undisturbed repose 

The cormorant had found. 
And the shy seal had quiet home 
And weltered in that wondrous dome 
Where, as to shame the temples decked 
By skill of earthly architect. 
Nature herself, it seemed, would raise 
A minster to her Maker's praise ! 
Not for a meaner use ascend 
Her columns or her arches bend ; 
Nor of a theme less solemn tells 
That mighty surge that ebbs and swells. 
And still, between each awful pause. 
From the high vault an answer draws 
In varied tone prolonged and high 
That mocks the organ's melody. 
Nor doth its entrance front in vain 
To old lona's holy fane. 
That Nature's voice might seem to say. 
' Well hast thou done, frail child of clay ! 
Thy humble powers that stately shrine 
Tasked high and hard — but witness 
mine ! ' 

XI. 

Merrily, merrily goes the bark, 

Before the gale she bounds ; 
So darts the dolphin from the shark, 

Or the deer before the hounds. 
They left Loch-Tua on their lee. 
And they wakened the men of the wild 
Tiree, 

And the chief of the sandy Coll; 
They paused not at Columba's isle. 
Though pealed the bells from the holy pile 

With long and measured toll ; 
No time for matin or for mass. 
And the sounds of the holy summons pass 

Away in the billows' roll. 
Lochbuie's fierce and warlike lord 
Their signal saw and grasped his sword, 
And verdant Islay called her host, 
And the clans of Jura's rugged coast 

Lord Ronald's call obey. 
And Scarba's isle, whose tortured shore 
Still rings to Corrievreken's roar, 

And lonely Colonsay ; — 
Scenes sung by him who sings no more ! 
His bright and' brief career is o'er, 

And mute his tuneful strains ; 
Quenched is his lamp of varied lore 
That loved the light of song to pour ; 
A distant and a deadly shore 

Has Leyden's cold remains ! 



Ever the breeze blows merrily, 

But the galley ploughs no more the sea. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



395 



Lest, rounding wild Cantyre, they meet 
The southern foeman's watchful fleet, 

They held unwonted way ; 
Up Tarbat's western lake they bore. 
Then dragged their bark the isthmus o'er, 
As far as Kilmaconnel's shore 

Upon the eastern bay. 
It was a wondrous sight to see 
Topmast and pennon glitter free, 
High raised above the greenwood tree, 
As on dry land the galley moves 
By cliff and copse and alder groves. 
Deep import from that selcouth sign 
Did many a mountain seer divine, 
For ancient legends told the Gael 
That when a royal bark should sail 

O'er Kilmaconnel moss 
Old Albyn should in fight prevail, 
And every foe should faint and quail 

Before her silver Cross. 



Now launched once more, the inland sea 
They furrow with fair augury, 

And steer for Arran's isle ; 
The sun, ere yet he sunk behind 
Ben-Ghoil, 'the Mountain of the Wind,' 
Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind. 

And bade Loch Ranza smile. • 
Thither their destined course they drew ; 
It seemed the isle her monarch knew. 
So brilliant was the landward view. 

The ocean so serene ; 
Each puny wave in diamonds rolled 
O'er the calm deep where hues of gold 

With azure strove and green. 
The hill, the vale, the tree, the tower. 
Glowed with the tints of evening's hour, 

The beech was silver sheen, 
The wind breathed soft as lover's sigh. 
And oft renewed seemed oft to die, 

With breathless pause between. 
O, who with speech of war and woes 
Would wish to break the soft repose 

Of such enchanting scene .'' 



Is it of war Lord Ronald speaks .'' 
The blush that dyes his manly cheeks, 
The timid look, and downcast eye. 
And faltering voice the theme deny. 

And good King Robert's brow expressed 
He pondered o'er some high request, 

As doubtful to approve ; 
Yet in his eye and lip the while, 
Dwelt the h'alf-pitying glance and smile 
Which manhood's graver mood beguile 
When lovers talk of love. 
Anxious his suit Lord Ronald pled ; 
' And for my bride betrothed," he said, 



' My liege has heard the rumor spread 
Of Edith from Artornish fled. 
Too hard her fate — I claim no right 
To blame her for her hasty flight ; 
Be joy and happiness her lot ! — 
But she hatli fled the bridal-knot, 
And Lorn recalled his promised plight 
In the assembled chieftains' sight. — 
When, to fulfil our fathers' band, 
I proffered all I could — my hand — 

I was repulsed with scorn ; 
Mine honor I should ill assert. 
And worse the feelings of my heart, 
If I should play a suitor's part 
Again to pleasure Lorn.' 



' Young Lord,' the royal Bruce replied, 
' That question must the Church decide ; 
Yet seems it hard, since rumors state 
Edith takes Clifford for her mate, 
The very tie which she hath broke 
To thee should still be binding yoke. 
But, for my sister Isabel — 
The mood of woman who can tell .'' 
I guess the Champion of the Rock, 
Victorious in the tourney shock. 
That knight unknown to whom the prize 
She dealt, — had favor in her eyes ; 
But since our brother Nigel's fate. 
Our ruined house and hapless state. 
From worldly joy and hope estranged, 
Much is the hapless mourner changed. 
Perchance,' here smiled the noble King, 
' This tale may other musings bring. 
Soon shall we know — yon mountains hide 
The little convent of Saint Bride ; 
There, sent by Edward, she must stay 
Till fate shall give more prosperous day ; 
And thither will I bear thy suit. 
Nor will thine advocate be mute.' 



As thus they talked in earnest mood, 
That speechless boy beside them stood. 
He stooped his head against the mast, 
And bitter sobs came thick and fast, 
A grief that would not be repressed 
But seemed to burst his youthful breast. 
His hands against his forehead held 
As if by force his tears repelled, 
But through his fingers long and slight 
Fast trilled the drops of crystal bright. 
Edward, who walked the deck apart. 
First spied this conflict of the heart. 
Thoughtless as brave, with bluntness kind 
He sought to cheer the sorrower's mind ; 
By force the slender hand he drew 
From those poor eyes that streamed with 
dew. 



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As in his hold the stripling strove — 

'T was a rough grasp, though meant in 

love — 
Away his tears the warrior swept, 
And bade shame on him that he wept. 
' I would to Heaven thy helpless tongue 
Could tell me who hath wrought thee 

wrong ! 
For, were he of our crew the best, 
The insult went not unredressed. 
Come, cheer thee ; thou art now of age 
To be a warrior's gallant page ; 
Thou shalt be mine ! — a palfrey fair 
O'er hill and holt my boy shall bear, 
To hold my bow in hunting grove. 
Or speed on errand to my love ; 
For well I wot thou wilt not tell 
The temple where my wishes dwell.' 



Bruce interposed, ' Gay Edward, no, 

This is no youth to hold thy bow, 

To fill thy goblet, or to bear 

Thy message light to lighter fair. 

Thou art a patron all too wild 

And thoughtless for this orphan child. 

See'st thou not how apart he steals, 

Keeps lonely couch, and lonely meals .'* 

Fitter by far in yon calm cell 

To tend our sister Isabel, 

With father Augustine to share 

The peaceful change of convent prayer. 

Than wander wild adventures through 

With such a reckless guide as you.' — 

' Thanks, brother ! ' Edward answered gay, 

' For the high laud thy words convey ! 

But we may learn some future day. 

If thou or I can this poor boy 

Protect the best or best employ. 

Meanwhile, our vessel nears the strand ; 

Launch we the boat and seek the land.' 



To land King Robert lightly sprung. 
And thrice aloud his bugle rung 
With note prolonged and varied strain 
Till bold Ben-Ghoil replied again. 
Good Douglas then and De la Haye 
Had in a glen a hart at bay, 
And Lennox cheered the laggard hounds. 
When waked that horn the greenwood 

bounds. 
' It is the foe ! ' cried Boyd, who came 
In breathless haste with eye of flame, — 
' It is the foe ! — Each valiant lord 
Fling by his bow and grasp his sword ! ' 
' Not so,' replied the good Lord James, 
' That blast no English bugle claims. 
Oft have I heard it fire the fight. 



Cheer the pursuit, or stop the flight. 
Dead were my heart and deaf mine ear. 
If Bruce shoiid call nor Douglas hear! 
Each to Loch Ranza's margin spring ; 
That blast was winded by the king ! ' 



Fast to their mates the tidings spread, 
And fast to shore the warriors sped. 
Bursting from glen and greenwood tree, 
High waked their loyal jubilee ! 
Around the royal Bruce they crowd. 
And clasped his hands, and wept aloud. 
Veterans of early fields were there, 
Whose helmets pressed their hoary hair, 
Whose swords and axes bore a stain 
From life-blood of the red-haired Dane ; 
And boys whose hands scarce brooked to 

wield 
The heavy sword or bossy shield. 
Men too were there that bore the scars 
Impressed in Albyn's woful wars. 
At Falkirk's fierce and fatal fight, 
Teyndrum's dread rout, and Methven'.s^ 

■ flight; 
The might of Douglas there was seen. 
There Lennox with his graceful mien ; 
Kirkpatrick, Closeburn's dreaded Knight ; 
The Lindsay, fiery, fierce, and light; 
The heir of murdered De la Haye, 
And Boyd the grave, and Seton gay. 
Around their king regained they pressed. 
Wept, shouted, clasped him to their breast^ 
And young and old, and serf and lord. 
And he who ne'er unsheathed a sword, 
And he in many a peril tried, 
Alike resolved the brunt to bide. 
And live or die by Bruce's side ! 



O War ! thou hast thy fierce delight. 
Thy gleams of joy, intensely bright ! 
Such gleams as from thy polished shield 
Fly dazzling o'er the battle-field ! 
Such transports wake, severe and high, 
Amid the pealing conquest cry; 
Scarce less, when after battle lost 
Muster the remnants of a host. 
And as each comrade's name they tell 
Who in the well-fought conflict fell. 
Knitting stern brow o'er flashing eye. 
Vow to avenge them or to die ! — 
Warriors ! — and where are warriors found. 
If not on martial Britain's ground? 
And who, when waked with note of fire, 
Love more than they the British lyre? — • 
Know ye not, — hearts to honor dear ! 
That joy, deep-thrilling, stern, severe, 
At which the heartstrinsrs vibrate hiah. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



397 



And wake the fountains of the eye ? 
And blame ye then the Bruce if trace 
Of tear is on his manly face 
When, scanty relics of the train 
That hailed at Scone his early reigp, 
This patriot band around him hung, 
And to his knees and bosom clung ? — • 
Blame ye the Bruce ? — His brother blamed. 
But shared the weakness, while ashamed 
With haughty laugh his head he turned, 
And dashed away the tear he scorned. 

XXI. 

'T is morning, and the convent bell 
Lonsf time had ceased its matin knell 



Tl^e portress crossed herself and said, 
' Not to be Prioress might I 
Debate his will, his suit deny.' — 
' Has earthly show then, simple fool. 
Power o'er a sister of thy rule ? 
And art thou, like the worldly train, 
Subdued by splendors light and vain ? ' 



' No, lady ! in old eyes like mine. 
Gauds have no glitter, gems no shine 
Nor grace his rank attendants vain. 
One youthful page is all his train. 
It is the form, the eye, the word. 
The bearing of that stranger lord ; 








Within thy walls. Saint Bride ! 
An aged sister sought the cell 
Assigned to Lady Isabel, 

And hurriedly she cried, 
' Haste, gentle Lady, haste ! — there waits 
A noble stranger at the gates ; 
Saint Bride's poor votaress ne'er has seen 
A knight of such a princely mien ; 
His errand, as he bade me tell. 
Is with the Lady Isabel.' 
The princess rose, — for on her knee 
Low bent she told her rosary, — 
' Let him by thee his purpose teach ; 
I may not give a stranger speech.' — 
' Saint Bride forefend, thou royal maid ! ' 



His stature, manly, bold, and tall, 
Built like a castle's battled wall, 
Yet moulded in such just degrees. 
His giant-strength seems lightsome ease. 
Close as the tendrils of the vine 
His locks upon his forehead twine. 
Jet-black save where some touch of gray 
Has ta'en the youthful hue away. 
Weather and war their rougher trace 
Have left on that majestic face ; — 
But 't is his dignity of eye ! 
There, if a suppliant, would I fly, 
Secure, mid danger, wrongs, and grief, 
Of sympathy, redress, relief — 
That glance, if guilty, would I dread 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



More than the doom that spoke me dead ! ' 
' Enough, enough,' the Princess cried, 
' 'T is Scotland's hope, her joy, her pride ! 
To meaner front was ne'er assigned 
Such mastery o'er the common mind — 
Bestowed thy high designs to aid. 
How long, O Heaven ! how long delayed ! — 
Haste, Mona, haste, to introduce 
My darling brother, royal Bruce ! ' 



They met like friends who part in pain. 
And meet in doubtful hope again. 
But when subdued that fitful swell, 
The Bruce surveyed the humble cell — 
' And this is thine, poor Isabel ! — 
That pallet-couch and naked wall, 
For room of state and bed of pall ; 
For costly robes and jewels rare, 
A string of beads and zone of hair ; 
And for the trumpet's sprightly call 
To sport or banquet, grove or hall. 
The bell's grim voice divides thy care, 
'Twixt hours of penitence and prayer ! — 
O ill for thee, my royal claim 
From the First David's sainted name ! 
O woe for thee, that while he sought 
His right, thy brother feebly fought ! ' 



' Now lay these vain regrets aside, 

And be the unshaken Bruce ! ' she cried ; 

' For more I glory to have shared 

The woes thy venturous spirit dared. 

When raising first thy valiant band 

In rescue of thy native land. 

Than had fair Fortune set me down 

The partner of an empire's crown. 

And grieve not that on pleasure's stream 

No more I drive in giddy dream, 

For Heaven the erring pilot knew. 

And from the gulf the vessel drew, 

Tried me with judgments stern and great, 

My house's ruin, thy defeat, 

Poor Nigel's death, till tamed I own 

My hopes are fixed on Heaven alone ; 

Nor e'er shall earthly prospects win 

My heart to this vain world of sin.' 



' Nay, Isabel, for such stern choice 
First wilt thou wait thy brother's voice ; 
Then ponder if in convent scene 
No softer thoughts might intervene — 
Say they were of that unknown knight, 
Victor in Woodstock's tourney-fight — 
Nay, if his name such blush you owe. 
Victorious o'er a fairer foe ! ' 
Truly his penetrating eye 



Hath caught that blush's passing dye, — 

Like the last beam of evening thrown 

On a white cloud, — just seen and gone. 

Soon with calm cheek and steady eye 

The prijicess made composed reply : 

' I guess my brother's meaning well ; 

For not so silent is the cell 

But we have heard the islemen all 

Arm in thy cause at Ronald's call. 

And mine eye proves that knight unknown 

And the brave Island Lord are one. 

Had then his suit been earlier made, 

In his own name with thee to aid — 

But that his plighted faith forbade — 

I know not — But thy page so near ? — 

This is no tale for menial's ear.' 



Still stood that page, as far apart 

As the small cell would space afford ; 
With dizzy eye and bursting heart 

He leant his weight on Bruce's sword. 
The monarch's mantle too he bore, 
And drew the fold his visage o'er. 
' Fear not for him — in murderous strife,' 
Said Bruce, 'his warning saved my life; 
Full seldom parts he from my side. 
And in his silence I confide. 
Since he can tell no tale again. 
He is a boy of gentle strain. 
And I have purposed he shall dwell 
In Augustine the chaplain's cell 
And wait on thee, my Isabel. — 
Mind not his tears; I 've seen them fiow. 
As in the thaw dissolves the snow. 
'Tis a kind youth, but fanciful, 
Unfit against the tide to pull. 
And those that with the Bruce would sail 
Must learn to strive with stream and gale. 
But forward, gentle Isabel — 
My answer for Lord Ronald tell.' 



' This answer be to Ronald given — 

The heart he asks is fixed on heaven. 

My love was like a summer flower 

That withered in the wintry hour, 

Born but of vanity and pride, 

And with these sunny visions died. 

If further press his suit — then say 

He should his plighted troth obey, . 

Troth plighted both with ring and word. 

And sworn on crucifix and sword. — 

O, shame thee, Robert ! I have seen 

Thou hast a woman's guardian been ! 

Even in extremity's dread hour, 

When pressed on thee the Southern pow'er, 

And safety, to all human sight. 

Was only found in rapid flight. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



399 



Thou heard'st a wretched female plain 
In agony of travail-pain, 
And thou didst bid thy little band 
Upon the instant turn and stand, 
And dare the worst the foe might do 
Rather than, like a knight untrue. 
Leave to pursuers merciless 
A woman in her last distress. 
And wilt thou now deny thine aid 
To an oppressed and injured maid, 
Even plead for Ronald's perfidy 
And press his fickle faith on me ? — 
So witness Heaven, as true I vow, 
Had I those earthly feelings' now 
Which could my former bosom move 
Ere taught to set its hopes above, 
I 'd spurn each proffer he could bring 
Till at my feet he laid the ring, 
The ring and spousal contract both. 
And fair acquittal of his oath, 
By her who brooks his perjured scorn, 
The ill-requited Maid of Lorn ! ' 



With sudden impulse forward sprung 
The page and on her neck he hung; 
Then, recollected instantly, 
His head he stooped and bent his knee, 
Kissed twice the hand of Isabel, 
Arose, and sudden left the cell. — 
The princess, loosened from his hold, 
Blushed angry at his bearing bold ; 

But good King Robert cried, 
' Chafe not — by signs he speaks his mind, 
He heard the plan my care designed, 

Nor could his transports hide. — 
But, sister, now bethink thee well ; 
No easy choice the convent cell ; 
•* Trust, I shall play no tyrant part. 
Either to force thy hand or heart. 
Or suffer that Lord Ronald scorn 
Or wrong for thee the Maid of Lorn. 
But think, — not long the time has been, 
That thou wert wont to sigh unseen. 
And wouldst the ditties best approve 
That told some lay of hapless love. 
Now are thy wishes in thy power, 
And thou art bent on cloister bower ! 
O, if our Edward knew the change. 
How would his busy satire range, 
With many a sarcasm varied still 
On woman's wish and woman's will ! ' — 



'Brother, I well believe,' she said, 

' Even so would Edward's part be jjlayed. 

Kindly in heart, in word severe, 

A foe to thought and grief and fear, 

He holds his humor uncontrolled ; 

But thou art of another mould. 

Say then to Ronald, as I say, 

Unless before my feet he lay 

The ring which bound the faith he swore, 

By Edith freely yielded o'er. 

He moves his suit to me no more. 

Nor do I promise, even if now 

He stood absolved of spousal vow. 

That I would change my purpose made 

To shelter me in holy shade. — 

Brother, for little space, farewell ! 

To other duties warns the bell.' 



' Lost to the world,' King Robert said, 

When he had left the royal maid, 

' Lost to the world by lot severe, 

O, what a gem lies buried here. 

Nipped by misfortune's cruel frost. 

The buds of fair affection lost ! — 

But what have I with love to do ? 

Far sterner cares my lot pursue. 

Pent in this isle we may not lie. 

Nor would it long our wants supply. 

Right opposite, the mainland towers 

Of my own Turnberry court our powers — 

Might not my father's beadsman hoar, 

Cuthbert, who dwells upon the shore. 

Kindle a signal-flame to show 

The time propitious for the blow? 

It shall be so — some friend shall bear 

Our mandate with despatch and care ; 

Edward shall find the messenger. 

That fortress ours, the island fleet 

May on the coast of Carrick meet. — 

O Scotland ! shall it e'er be mine 

To wreak thy wrongs in battle-line. 

To raise my victor-head, and see 

Thy hills, thy dales, thy people free, — 

That glance of bliss is all I crave 

Betwixt my labors and my grave ! ' 

Then down the hill he slowly went, 

Oft pausing on the steep descent, 

And reached the spot where his bold train 

Held rustic cgmp upon the plain. 



400 



scorrs poetical works. 



W[)z iLorli of tfj£ 3islcs. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



On fair Loch-Ranza streamed the early day, 
Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward curled 
From the lone hamlet which her inland bay 
And circling mountains sever from the world. 
And there the fisherman his sail unfurled, 
The goat-herd drove his kids to steep Ben-Ghoil, 
Before the hut the dame her spindle twirled, 
Courting the sunbeam as she plied her toil, — 
For, wake where'er he may, man wakes to care and coil. 

But other duties called each convent maid, 
Roused by the summons of the moss-grown bell ; 
Sung were the matins and the mass was said, 
And every sister sought her separate cell, 
Such was the rule, her rosary to tell. 
And Isabel has knelt in lonely prayer; 
The sunbeam through the narrow lattice fell 
Upon the snowy neck and long dark hair. 
As stooped her gentle head in meek devotion there. 



She raised her eyes, that duty done, 
When glanced upon the pavement-stone. 
Gemmed and enchased, a golden ring. 
Bound to a scroll with silken string. 
With few brief words inscribed to tell, 
' This for the Lady Isabel.' 
Within the writing farther bore, 
' 'Twas with this ring his plight he swore. 
With this his promise I restore ; 
To her who can the heart command 
Well may I yield the plighted hand. 
And O, for better fortune born. 
Grudge not a passing sigh to mourn 
Her who was Edith once of Lorn ! ' 
One single flash of glad surprise 
Just glanced from Isabel's dark eyes, 
But vanished in the blush of shame 
That as its penance instant came. 
' O thought unworthy of my race ! 
Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and base, 
A moment's throb of joy to own 
That rose upon her hopes o'erthrown ! — 
Thou pledge of vows too well" believed, 
Of man ingrate and maid deceived, 
Think not thy lustre here shall gain 
Another heart to hope in vain ! 
For thou shalt rest, thou tempting gaud. 
Where worldly thoughts are overawed, 
And worldly splendors sink debased.' 
Then by the cross the ring she placed. 



Next rose the thought, — its owner far, 
How came it here through bolt and bar? — 
But the dim lattice is ajar. 
She looks abroad, — the morning dew 
A light short step had brushed anew, 

And there were footprints seen 
On the carved buttress rising still. 
Till on the mossy window-sill 

Their track effaced the green. ♦ 

The ivy twigs were torn and frayed, 
As if some climber's steps to aid. — 
But who the hardy messenger 
Whose venturous path these signs infer? — 
' Strange doubts are mine ! — Mona, draw 

nigh ; — 
Naught 'scapes old Mona's curious eye — 
What strangers, gentle mother, say. 
Have sought these holy walls to-day ? ' 
' None, lady, none of note or name ; 
Only your brother's foot-page came 
At peep of dawn — I prayed him pass 
To chapel where they said the mass ; 
But like an arrow he shot by, 
And tears seemed bursting from his eye.' 



The truth at once on Isabel 

As darted by a sunbeam fell : 

' 'T is Edith's self ! — her speechless woe, 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



401 




^^^^^^^_^j^^^^.^^^^,^^^ 



Her form, her looks, the secret show ! — 

Instant, good Mona, to the bay. 

And to my royal brother say, 

I do conjure him seek my cell 

With that mute page he loves so well.' 

' What ! know'st thou not his warlike host 

At break of day has left our coast? 

My old eyes saw them from the tower. 

At eve they couched in greenwood bower. 

At dawn a bugle signal made 

By their bold lord their ranks arrayed ; 

Up sprung the spears through bush and 

tree, 
No time for benedicite ! 
Like deer that, rousing from their lair. 
Just shake the dewdrops from their hair 
And toss their armed crest aloft. 
Such matins theirs ! ' — ' Good mother, 

soft — 
Where does my brother bend his way ? ' — 
' As I have heard, for Brodick-Bay, 
Across the isle — of barks a score 
Lie there, 't is said, to waft them o'er, 
On sudden news, to Carrick-shore.' — 
' If such their purpose, deep the need,' 
Said anxious Isabel, ' of speed ! 
Call Father Augustine, good dame.' — 
The nun obeyed, the father came. 

' Kind father, hie without delay 
Across the hills to Brodick-Bav- 



This message to the Bruce be given ; 

I pray him, by his hopes of Heaven, 

That till he speak with me he stay ! 

Or, if his haste brook no delay, 

That he deliver on my suit 

Into thy charge that stripling mute. 

Thus prays his sister Isabel 

For causes more than she may tell — 

Away, good father ! and take heed 

That life and death are on thy speed.' 

His cowl the good old priest did on, 

Took his piked staff and sandalled shoon. 

And, like a palmer bent by eld. 

O'er moss and moor his journey held. 



Heavy and dull the foot of age. 

And rugged was the pilgrimage ; 

But none were there beside whose care 

Might such important message bear. 

Through birchen copse he wandered slow. 

Stunted and sapless, thin and low ; 

By many a mountain stream he passed, 

From the tall cliffs in tumult cast, 

Dashing to foam their waters dun 

And sparkling in the summer sun. 

Round his gray head the wild curlew 

In many a fearless circle flew. 

O'er chasms he passed where fractures 

wide 
Craved wary eye and ample stride ; 



402 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He crossed his brow beside the stone 
Where Druids erst heard victims groan, 
And at the cairns upon the wild 
O'er many a heathen hero piled, 
He breathed a timid prayer for those 
Who died ere Shiloh's sun arose. 
Beside Macfarlane's Cross he staid. 
There told his hours within the shade 
And at the stream his thirst allayed. 
Thence onward journeying slowly still, 
As evening closed he reached the hill 
Where, rising through the woodland green. 
Old Brodick's Gothic towers were seen. 
From Hastings late, their English lord, 
Douglas had won them by the sword. 
The sun that sunk behind the isle 
Now tinged them with a parting smile. 



But though the beams of light decay 
'T was bustle all in Brodick Bay. 
The Bruce's followers crowd the shore. 
And boats and barges some unmoor, 
Some raise the sail, some seize the oar; 
Their eyes oft turned where glimmered far 
What might have seemed an early star 
On heaven's blue arch save that its light 
Was all too flickering, lierce, and bright. 
Far distant in the south the ray 
Shone pale amid retiring day. 

But as, on Carrick shore. 
Dim seen in outline faintly blue, 
The shades of evening closer drew. 
It kindled more and more. 
The monk's slow steps now press the sands, 
And now amid a scene he stands 

Full strange to churchman's eye : 
Warriors, who, arming for the fight, 
Rivet and clasp their harness light. 
And twinkling spears, and axes bright. 
And helmets flashing high. 
Oft too with unaccustomed ears 
A language much unmeet he hears, 

While, hastening all on board. 
As stormy as the swelling surge 
That mixed its roar, the leaders urge 
Their followers to the ocean verge 
With many a haughty word. 



Through that wild throng the father passed. 
And reached the royal Bruce at last. 
He leant against a stranded boat 
That the approaching tide must float. 
And counted every rippling wave 
As higher yet her sides they lave, 
And oft the distant fire he eyed, 
Aud closer yet his hauberk tied, 
And loosened in its sheath his brand. 



Edward and Lennox were at hand, 

Douglas and Ronald had the care 

The soldiers to the barks to share. — 

The monk approached and homage paid ; 

' And art thou come,' King Robert said, 

' So far to bless us ere we part .'' ' — 

' My li^e, and with a loyal heart ! — 

But other charge I have to tell,' — 

And spoke the hest of Isabel. 

' Now by Saint Giles,' the monarch cried, 

' This moves me much ! — this morning 

tide 
I sent the stripling to Saint Bride 
With my commandment there to bide.' 
' Thither he came the portress showed. 
But there, my liege, mad e brief abode.' — 



' 'T was I,' said Edward, 'found employ 
Of nobler import for the boy. 
Deep pondering in my anxious mind 
A fitting messenger to find 
To bear thy written mandate o'er 
To Cuthbert on the Carrick shore, 
I chanced at early dawn to pass 
The chapel gate to snatch a mass. 
I found the stripling on a tomb 
Low-seated, weeping for the doom 
That gave his youth to convent gloom. 
I told my purpose and his eyes 
Flashed joyful at the glad surprise. 
He bounded to the skiff, the sail 
Was spread before a prosperous gale, 
And well my charge he hath obeyed ; 
For see ! the ruddy signal made 
That Clifford with his merry-men all 
Guards carelessly our father's hall.' 



' O wild of thought and hard of heart ! ' 
Answered the monarch, 'on a part 
Of such deep danger to employ 
A mute, an orphan, and a boy ! 
Unfit for flight, unfit for strife, 
Without a tongue to plead for life ! 
Now, were my right restored by Heaven, 
Edward, my crown I would have given 
Ere, thrust on such adventure wild, 
I perilled thus the helpless child.' 
Offended half and half submiss, — 
' Brother and liege, of blame like this,' 
Edward replied, ' I little dreamed, f 
A stranger messenger, I deemed. 
Might safest seek the beadsman's cell 
Where all thy squires are known so well. 
Noteless his presence, sharp his sense. 
His imperfection his defence. 
If seen, none can his errand guess ; 
If ta'en, his words no tale express — 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



403 



Methinks, too, yonder beacon's shine 
Might expiate greater fault than mine.' 
' Rash,' said King Robert, ' was the deed 
But it is done. Embark with speed ! — 
Good father, say to Isabel 
How this vmhappy chance befell ; 
If well we thrive on yonder shore, » 
Soon shall my care her page restore. 
Our greeting to our sister bear, 
And think of us in mass and prayer.' 



Their number was a score and ten, 
They bore thrice threescore chosen men. 
With such small force did Bruce at last 
The die for death or empire cast ! 



XII. 



Now on the darkening main afloat, 
Ready and manned rocks every boat ; 
Beneath their oars the ocean's might 
Was dashed to sparks of glimmering light. 




-^. 



:*'l.v^ ..5K: -^ 






^„» MV^ »V... '" 



^, jy^.^.i^^-^^^i-^ff^-: 



* Ay ! ' said the priest, ' while this poor 

hand 
Can chalice raise or cross command. 
While my old voice has accents' use, 
Can Augustine forget the Bruce ! ' 
Then to his side Lord Ronald pressed. 
And whispered, ' Bear thou this request. 
That when by Bruce's side I fight 
For Scotland's crown and freedom's right, 
The princess grace her knight to bear 
Some token of her favoring care ; 
It shail be shown where England's best 
May shrink to see it on my crest. 
And for the boy — since weightier care 
For royal Bruce the times prepare. 
The helpless youth is Ronald's charge. 
His couch my plaid, his fence my targe.' 
He ceased ; for many an eager hand 
Had urged the barges from the strand. 



Faint and more faint, as off they bore. 
Their armor glanced against the shore, 
And, mingled with the dashing tide. 
Their murmuring voices distant died. — 
' God speed them ! ' said the priest, as 

dark 
On distant billows glides each bark ; 
' O Heaven ! when swords for freedom 

shine 
And monarch's right, the cause is thine ! 
Edge doubly every patriot blow ! 
Beat down the banners of the foe ] 
And be it to the nations known. 
That victory is from God alone ! ' 
As up the hill his path he drew, 
He turned his blessings to renew. 
Oft turned till on the darkened coast 
All traces of their course were lost : 
Then slowly bent to Brodick tower 
To shelter for the evening: hour. 



404 



scorrs poetical works. 



In night the fairy prospects sink 
Where Cumray's isles with verdant link 
Close the fair entrance of the Clyde; 
The woods of Bute, no more descried, 
Are gone — and on the placid sea 
The rowers ply their task with glee. 
While hands that knightly lances bore 
Impatient aid the laboring oar. 
The half-faced moon shone dim and pale, 
And glanced against the whitened sail ; 
But on that ruddy beacon-light 
Each steersman kept the helm aright, 
And oft, for such the king's command. 
That all at once might reach the strand, 
From boat to boat loud shout and hail 
Warned them to crowd or slacken sail. 
South and by west the armada bore. 
And near at length the Carrick shore. 
As less and less the distance grows, 
High and more high the beacon rose ; 
The light that seemed a twinkling star 
Now blazed portentous, fierce, and far. 
Dark-red the heaven above it glowed. 
Dark-red the sea beneath it flowed, 
Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim. 
In blood-red light her islets swim; 
Wild scream the dazzled sea-fowl gave, 
Dropped from their crags on plashing wave. 
The deer to distant covert drew, 
The black-cock deemed it day and crew. 
Like some tall castle given to flame. 
O'er half the land the lustre came. 
' Now, good my liege and brother sage, 
What think ye of mine elfin page ? ' — 
' Row on ! ' the noble king replied, 
' We '11 learn the truth whate'er betide ; 
Yet sure the beadsman and the child 
Could ne'er have waked that beacon wild.' 



XIV. 

With that the boats approached the land, 
But Edward's grounded on the sand ; 
The eager knight leaped in the sea 
Waste-deep and first on shore was he, 
Though every barge's hardy band 
Contended which should gain the land, 
When that strange light, which seen afar 
Seemed steady as the polar star, 
Now, like a prophet's fiery chair, 
Seemed travelling the realms of air. 
Wide o'er the sky the splendor glows 
As that portentous meteor rose ; 
Helm, axe, and falchion glittered bright, 
And in the red and dusky light 
His comrade's face each warrior saw, 
Nor marvelled it was pale with awe. 
Then high in air the beams were lost, 
And darkness sunk upon the coast. — 



Ronald to Heaven a prayer addressed, 

And Douglas crossed his dauntless breast ; 

' .Saint James protect us ! ' Lennox cried, 

But reckless Edward spoke aside, 

' Deem'st thou, Kirkpatrick, in that flame 

Red Comyn's angry spirit came, 

Or would thy dauntless heart endure 

Once more to make assurance sure .'' ' 

' Hush ! ' said the Bruce ; ' we soon shall 

know 
If this be sorcerer's empty show 
Or stratagem of southern foe. 
The moon shines out — upon the sand 
Let every leader rank his band.' 



Faintly the moon's pale beams supply 
That ruddy light's unnatural dye ; 
The dubious cold reflection lay 
On the wet sands and quiet bay. 
Beneath the rocks King Robert drew 
His scattered files to order due. 
Till shield compact and serried spear 
In the cool light shone blue and clear. 
Then down a path that sought the tide 
That speechless page was seen to glide ; 
He knelt him lowly on the sand, 
And gave a scroll to Robert's hand. 
' A torch,' the monarch cried, ' What, ho I 
Now shall we Cuthbert's tidings know.' 
But evil news the letters bear, 
The Clifford's force was strong and ware, 
Augmented too, that very morn. 
By mountaineers who came with Lorn. 
Long harrowed by oppressor's hand. 
Courage and faith had fled the land, 
And over Carrick, dark and deep. 
Had sunk dejection's iron sleep. — 
Cuthbert had seen that beacon flame, 
Unwitting from what source it came. 
Doubtful of perilous event, 
Edward's mute messenger he sent, 
If Bruce deceived should venture o'er, 
To warn him from the fatal shore. 



As round the torch the leaders crowd, 
Bruce read these chilling news aloud. 
' What council, nobles, have we now ? — 
To ambush us in greenwood bough. 
And take the chance which fate may send 
To bring our enterprise to end .'' 
Or shall we turn us to the main 
As exiles, and embark again ? ' 
Answered fierce Edward, ' Hap what may ; 
In Carrick Carrick's lord must stay. 
I would not minstrels told the tale 
Wildfire or meteor made us quail.' 
Answered the Douglas, ' If my liege 
May win yon walls by storm or siege, 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



405 



Then were each brave and patriot heart 
Kindled of new for loyal part.' 
Answered Lord Ronald, ' Not for shame 
Would I that aged Torquil came 
And found, for all our empty boar.t, 
Without a blow we fled the coast. 
I will not credit that this land, 
So famed for warlike heart and hand, 
The nurse of Wallace and of Bruce, 
Will long with tyrants hold a truce.' 
' Prove we our fate — -the brunt we '11 bide ! ' 
So Boyd and Haye and Lennox cried ; 
So said, so vowed the leaders all ; 
So Bruce resolved : ' And in my hall 
Since the bold Southern make their home, 
The hour of payment soon shall come, 
When with a rough and rugged host 
Clifford may reckon to his cost. 
Meantime, through well-known bosk and 

dell 
I '11 lead where we may shelter well.' 



Now ask you whence that wondrous light, 
Whose fairy glow beguiled their sight? — 
It ne'er was known — yet gray-haired eld 
A superstitious credence held 
That never did a mortal hand 
Wake its broad glare on Carrick strand ; 
Nay, and that on the selfsame night 
When Bruce crossed o'er still gleams the 

light. 
Yearly it gleams o'er mount and moor 
And glittering wave and crimsoned shore — 
But whether beam celestial, lent 
By Heaven to aid the king's descent, 
Or fire hell-kindled from beneath 
To lure him to defeat and death. 
Or were it but some meteor strange 
Of such as oft through midnight range. 
Startling the traveller late and lone, 
I know not — and it ne'er was known. 



Now up the rocky pass they drew, 
And Ronald, to his promise true. 
Still made his arm the stripling's stay, 
To aid him on the rugged wav. 
' Now cheer thee, simple Amadine ! 
Why throbs that silly heart of thine.'' ' — 
That name the pirates to their slave — 
In Gaelic 't is the Changeling — gave — 
' Dost thou not rest thee on my arm .? 
Do not my plaid-folds hold thee warm ? 
Hath not the wild bull's treble hide 
This targe for thee and me supplied? 
Is not Clan-CoUa's sword of steel? 
And, trembler, canst thou terror feel ? 
Cheer thee, and still that throbbing heart 
From Ronald's guard thou shalt not part.' - 



O ! many a shaft at random sent 

Finds mark the archer little meant ! 

And many a word at random spoken 

May soothe or wound a heart that 's broken ! 

Half soothed, half grieved, half terrified. 

Close drew the page to Ronald's side ; 

A wild delirious thrill of joy 

Was in that hour of agony. 

As up the steepy pass he strove, 

Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love ! 

XIX. 

The barrier of that iron shore, 
The rock's steep ledge, is now climbed o'er; 
And from the castle's distant wall. 
From tower to tower the warders call : 
The sound swings over land and sea, 
And marks a watchful enemy. — 
They gained the Chase, a wide domain 
Left for the castle's sylvan reign — 
Seek not the scene ; the axe, the plough, 
The boor's dull fence, have marred it now. 
But then soft swept in velvet green 
The plain with many a glade between. 
Whose tangled alleys far invade 
The depth of the brown forest shade. 
Here the tall fern obscured the lawn. 
Fair shelter for the sportive fawn ; 
There, tufted close with copsewood green, 
Was many a swelling hillock seen ; 
And all around was verdure meet 
For pressure of the fairies' feet. 
The glossy holly loved the park, 
The yew-tree lent its shadow dark. 
And many an old oak, worn and bare. 
With all its shivered boughs was there. 
Lovely between, the moonbeams fell 
On lawn and hillock, glade and dell. 
The gallant monarch sighed to see 
These glades so loved in childhood free, 
Bethinking that as outlaw now 
He ranged beneath the forest bousrh. 



Fast o'er the moonlight Chase they sped. 
Well knew the band that measured tread 
When, in retreat or in advance, 
The serried warriors move at once ; 
And evil were the luck if dawn 
Descried them on the open lawn. 
Copses they traverse, brooks they cross. 
Strain up the bank and o'er the moss. 
From the exhausted page's brow- 
Cold drops of toil are streaming now : 
With effort faint and lengthened pause. 
His weary step the stripling draws. 
' Nay, droop not yet ! ' the warrior said ; 
' Come, let me give thee ease and aid ! 
Strong are mine arms, and little care 
A weight so slight as thine to bear. — 



4o6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



What ! wilt thou not ? — capricious boy ! — 
Then thine own limbs and strength employ. 
Pass but this night and pass thy care, 
I '11 place thee with a lady fair, 
Where thou shalt tune thy lute to tell 
How Ronald loves fair Isabel ! ' 
Worn out, disheartened, and dismayed. 
Here Amadine let go the plaid ; 
His trembling limbs their aid refuse. 
He sunk among the midnight dews ! 

XXI. 

What may be done .'' — the night is gone — 

The Bruce's band moves swiftly on — 

Eternal shame if at the brunt 

Lord Ronald grace not battle's front ! — 

'See yonder oak within whose trunk 

Decay a darkened cell hath sunk ; 

Enter and rest thee there a space, 

Wrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy face. 

I will not be, believe me, far, 

But must not quit the ranks of war. 

Well will I mark the bosky bourne. 

And soon, to guard thee hence, return. — 

Nay, weep not so, thou simple boy ! 

But sleep in peace and wake in joy.' 

In sylvan lodging close bestowed, 

He placed the page and onward strode 

With strength put forth o'er moss and brook, 

And soon the marching band o'ertook. 



Thus strangely left, long sobbed and wept 

The page till wearied out he slept — 

A rough voice waked his dream — ' Nay, 

here. 
Here by this thicket passed the deer — 
Beneath that oak old Ryno staid — 
What have we here? — A Scottish plaid 
And in its folds a stripling laid ? — 
Come forth ! thy name and business tell ! 
What, silent ? — then I guess thee well. 
The spy that sought old Cuthbert's cell. 
Wafted from Arran yester morn — 
Come, comrades, we will straight return. 
Our lord may choose the rack should teach 
To this young lurcher use of speech. 
Thy bow-string, till I bind him fast.' — 
' Nay, but he weeps and stands aghast; 
Unbound we '11 lead him, fear it not ; 
'Tis a fair stripling, though a Scot.' 
The hunters to the castle sped, 
And there the hapless captive led. 



Stout Clifford in the castle-court 
Prepared him for the morning sport ; 
And now with Lorn held deep discourse. 
Now gave command for hound and horse. 



War-steeds and palfreys pawed the ground. 

And many a deer-dog howled around. 

To Amadine Lorn's well-known word 

Replying to that Southern lord. 

Mixed with this clanging din, might seem 

The phantasm of a fevered dream. 

The tone upon his ringing ears 

Came like the sounds which fancy hears 

When in rude waves or roaring winds 

Some words of woe the muser tinds, 

Until more loudly and more near 

Their speech arrests the page's ear. 



' And was she thus,' said Clifford, 'lost.'' 
The priest should rue it to his cost ! 
What says the monk t'' — ' The holy sire 
Owns that in masquer's quaint attire 
She sought his, skiff disguised, unknown 
To all except to him alone. 
But, says the priest, a bark from Lorn 
Laid them aboard that very morn, 
And pirates seized her for their prey. 
He proffered ransom gold to pav 
And they agreed — but ere told o'er. 
The winds blow loud, the billows roar ; 
They severed and they met no more. 
He deems — such tempests vexed the 

coast — 
Ship, crew, and fugitive were lost. 
So let it be, with the disgrace 
And scandal of her lofty race ! 
Thrice better she had ne'er been born 
Than brought her infamy on Lorn ! ' 



Lord Clifford now the captive spied; — 
'Whom, Herbert, hast thou there.'*' he 

cried. 
' A spy we seized within the Chase, 
A hollow oak his lurking-place.' — 
' What tidings can the youth afford ? ' — 
' He plays the mute.' — • Then noose a 

cord — 
Unless brave Lorn reverse the doom 
For his plaid's sake.' — ' Clan-Colla's loom," 
Said Lorn, whose careless glances trace 
Rather the vesture than the face, 
' Clan-Colla's dames such tartans twine ; 
Wearer nor plaid claims care of mine. 
Give him, if my advice you crave, 
His own scathed oak ; and let him wave 
In air unless, by terror wrung, 
A frank confession find his tongue. — 
Nor shall he die without his rite; 
Thou, Angus Roy. attend the sight. 
And give Clan-Colla's dirge thy breath 
As they convey him to his death.' — 
' O brother ! cruel to the last ! ' 
Through the poor captive's bosom passed 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



407 



The thought, but, to his purpose true, 
He said not, though he sighed, ' Adieu ! ' 



And will he keep his purpose still 

In sight of that last closing ill. 

When one poor breath, one single word. 

May freedom, safety, life, afford ? 

Can he resist the instinctive call 

For life that bids us barter all ? — 

Love, strong as death, his heart hath steeled. 

His nerves hath strung — he will not yield ! 

Since that poor breath, that little word, 

May yield Lord Ronald to the sword. — 

Clan-Colla's dirge is pealing wide, 

The griesly headsman 's by his side ; 

Along the greenwood Chase they bend. 

And now their march has ghastly end ! 

That old and shattered oak beneath. 

They destine for the place of death. 

What thoughts are his, while all in vain 

His eye for aid explores the plain.'' 

What thoughts, while with a dizzy ear 

He hears the death-prayer muttered near t 

And must he die such death accurst. 

Or will that bosom-secret burst .'' 

Cold on his brow breaks terror's dew. 

His trembling lips are livid blue; 

The agony of parting life 

Has naught to match that moment's strife ! 



But other witnesses are nigh, 

Who mock at fear, and death defy ! 

Soon as the dire lament was played 

It waked the lurking ambuscade. 

The Island Lord looked forth and spied 

The cause, and loud in fury cried, 

' By Heaven, they lead the page to die. 

And mock me in his agony ! 

They shall aby it ! ' — On his arm 

Bruce laid strong grasp, ' They shall not 

harm 
A ringlet of the stripling's hair ; 
But till I give the word forbear. — 
Douglas, lead fifty of our force 
Up yonder hollow water-course. 
And couch thee midway on the wold. 
Between the flyers and their hold : 
A spear above the copse displayed, 
Be signal of the ambush made. — 
Edward, with forty spearmen straight 
Through yonder copse approach the gate, 
And when thou hear'st the battle-din 
Rush forward and the passage win, 
Secure the drawbridge, storm the port. 
And man and guard the castle-court. — 
The rest move slowly forth with me, 
In shelter of the forest-tree, 
Till Douglas at his post I see.' 



Like war-horse eager to rush on, 
Compelled to wait the signal blown, 
Hid, and scarce hid, by greenwood bough, 
Trembling with rage stands Ronald now. 
And in his grasp his sword gleams blue. 
Soon to be dyed with deadlier hue. — 
Meanwhile the Bruce with steady eye 
Sees the dark death-train moving by. 
And heedful measures oft the space 
The Douglas and his band must trace, 
Ere they can reach their destined ground. 
Now sinks the dirge's wailing sound, 
Now cluster round the direful tree 
That slow and solemn company. 
While hymn mistuned and muttered prayer 
The victim for his fate prepare. — 
What glances o'er the greenwood shade ? 
The spear that marks the ambuscade ! — 
' Now, noble chief ! I leave thee loose ; 
Upon them, Ronald ! ' said the Bruce. 



' The Bruce ! the Bruce ! ' to well-known cry 
His native rocks and woods reply. 
' The Bruce ! the Bruce ! ' in that dread word 
The knell of hundred deaths was heard. 
The astonished Southern gazed at first 
Where the wild tempest was to burst 
That waked in that presaging name. 
Before, behind, around it came ! 
Half-armed, surprised, on every side 
Hemmed in, hewed down, they bled and 

died. , 
Deep in the ring the Bruce engaged. 
And fierce Clan-Colla's broadsword raged ! 
Full soon the few who fought were sped, 
Nor better was their lot who fled 
And met mid terror's wild career 
The Douglas's redoubted spear ! 
Two hundred yeomen on that morn 
The castle left, and none return. 



Not on their flight pressed Ronald's brand, 
A gentler duty claimed his hand. 
He raised the page where on the plain 
His fear had sunk him with the slain: 
And twice that morn surprise well near 
Betrayed the secret kept by fear ; 
Once when with life returning came 
To the boy's lip Lord Ronald's name. 
And hardly recollection drowned 
The accents in a murmuring sound ; 
And once when scarce he could resist 
The chieftain's care to loose the vest 
Drawn tightly o'er his laboring breast. 
But then the Bruce's bugle blew. 
For martial work was yet to do. 



4o8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



A harder task fierce Edward waits. 
Ere signal given the castle gates 

His fury had assailed; 
Such was his wonted reckless mood, 
Yet desperate valor oft made good, 
Even by its daring, venture rude 

Where prudence might have failed. 
Upon the bridge his strength he threw, 
And struck the iron chain in two, 

By which its planks arose ; 
The warder next his axe's edge 
Struck down upon the threshold ledge, 
'Twixt door and post a ghastly wedge ! 

The gate they may not close. 
Well fought the Southern in the fray, 
Clifford and Lorn fought well that day, 
But stubborn Edward forced his way 

Against a hundred foes. 
Loud came the cry, ' The Bruce ! the Bruce ! ' 
No hope or in defence or truce, — 

Fresh combatants pour in ; 
Mad with success and drunk with gore. 
They drive the struggling foe before 

And ward on ward they win. 
Unsparing was the vengeful sword. 
And limbs were lopped and life-blood poured, 
The cry of death and conflict roared, 

And fearful was the din ! 
The startling horses plunged and flung, 
Clamored the dogs till turrets rung. 

Nor sunk the fearful cry 
Till not a foeman was there found 
Alive save those who on the ground 

Groaned in their agony ! 

XXXII. 

The valiant Clifford is no more ; 

On Ronald's broadsword streamed his gore. 

But better hap had he of Lorn, 

Who, by the foeman backward borne. 

Yet gained with slender train the port 

Where lay his bark beneath the fort, 

And cut the cable loose. 
Short were his shrift in that debate. 
That hour of fury and of fate, 

If Lorn encountered Bruce! 
Then long and loud the victor shout 
From turret and from tower rung out. 

The rugged vaults replied; 
And from the donjon tower on high 



The men of Carrick may descry 
Saint Andrew's cross in blazonry 
Of silver waving wide ! 



The Bruce hath won his father's hall ! — 
' Welcome, brave friends and comrades all, 

Welcome to mirth and joy ! 
The first, the last, is welcome here. 
From lord and chieftain, prince and peer. 

To this poor speechless boy. 
Great God ! once more my sire"s abode 
Is mine — behold the floor I trode 

In tottering infancy! 
And there the vaulted arch whose sound 
Echoed my joyous shout and bound 
In boyhood, and that rung around 

To youth's unthinking glee ! 
O, first to thee, all-gracious Heaven, 
Then to my friends, my thanks be given ! ' — 
He paused a space, his brow he crossed — 
Then on the board his sword he tossed, 
Yet steaming hot; with Southern gore 
From hilt to point "t was crimsoned o'er. 



' Bring here,' he said, ' the mazers four 
My noble fathers loved of yore. 
Thrice let them circle round the board. 
The pledge, fair Scotland's rights restored ! 
And he whose lip shall touch the wine 
Without a vow as true as mine. 
To hold both lands and life at naught 
Until her freedom shall be bought, — 
Be brand of a disloyal Scot 
And lasting infamy his lot ! 
Sit, gentle friends I our hour of glee 
Is brief, we '11 spend it joyously ! 
Blithest of all the sun's bright beams, 
When betwixt storm and storm he gleams. 
Well is our country's work begun. 
But more, far more, must yet be done. 
Speed messengers the country through ; 
Arouse old friends and gather new; 
Warn Lanark's knights to gird their mail. 
Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale, 
Let Ettrick's archers sharp their darts. 
The fairest forms, the truest hearts ! 
Call all, call all ! from Reedswair-Path 
To the wild confines of Cape-Wrath ; 
Wide let the news through Scotland ring, — 
The Northern Eagle claps his wing ! ' 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



409 







(JTfje ILort) of ti)£ Bks. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



O WHO that shared them ever shall forget 
The emotions of the spirit-rousing time, 
When breathless in the mart the couriers met 
Early and late, at evening and at prime ; 
When the loud cannon and the merry chime 
Hailed news on news, as field on field was won. 
When Hope, long doubtful, soared at length sublime, 
And our glad eyes, awake as day begun, 
Watched Joy's broad banner rise to meet the rising sun ! 



O these were hours when thrilling joy repaid 
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears ! 
The heart-sick faintness of the hope delayed, 
The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the tears. 
That tracked with terror twenty rolling years, 
All was forgot in that blithe jubilee ! 
Her downcast eye even pale Affliction rears. 
To sigh a thankful prayer amid the glee 
That hailed the Despot's fall, and peace and liberty ! 



4IO 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant rode 
When 'gainst the invaders turned the battle's scale, 
When Bruce's banner had victorious flowed 
O'er Loudoun's mountain and in Ury's vale ; 
When English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale. 
And tiery Edward routed stout Saint John, 
When Randolph's war-cry swelled the southern gale. 
And many a fortress, town, and tower was won. 
And Fame still sounded forth fresh deeds of glory done. 



Blithe tidings flew from baron's tower 
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower, 
And waked the solitary cell 
Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwell. 
Princess no laore, fair Isabel, 

A votaress of the order now. 
Say, did the rule that bid thee wear 
Dim veil and woollen scapulare. 
And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair, 

That stern and rigid vow, 
Did it condemn the transport high 
Which glistened in thy watery eye 
When minstrel or when palmer told 
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the bold ? — 
And whose the lovely form that shares 
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy prayers ? 
No sister she of convent shade ; 
So say these locks in lengthened braid. 
So say the blushes and the sighs. 
The tremors that unbidden rise. 
When, mingled with the Bruce's fame. 
The brave Lord Ronald's praises came. 



Believe, his father's castle won 
And his bold enterprise begun. 
That Bruce's earliest cares restore 
The speechless page to Arran's shore : 
Nor think that long the quaint disguise 
Concealed her from a sister's eyes ; 
And sister-like in love they dwell 
In that lone convent's silent cell. 
There Bruce's slow assent allows 
Fair Isabel the veil and vows ; 
And there, her sex's dress regained. 
The lovely Maid of Lorn remained, 
Unnamed, unknown, while Scotland far 
Resounded with the din of war ; 
And many a month and many a day 
In calm seclusion wore away. 



These days, these months, to years had 

worn 
When tidings of high weight were borne 

To that lone island's shore ; 
Of all the Scottish conquests made 



By the First Edward's ruthless blade 

His son retained no more. 
Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's towers, 
Beleaguered by King Robert's powers ; 

And they took term of truce, 
If England's King should not relieve 
The siege ere John the Baptist's eve. 

To yield them to the Bruce. 
England was roused — on every side 
Courier and post and herald hied 

To summon prince and peer. 
At Berwick-bounds to meet their liege. 
Prepared to raise fair Stirling's siege 

With buckler, brand, and spear. 
The term was nigh — they mustered fast, 
By beacon and by bugle-blast 

Forth marshalled for the field ; 
There rode each knight of noble name. 
There England's hardy archers came. 
The land they trode seemed all on flame 

With banner, blade, and shield ! 
And not famed England's powers alone. 
Renowned in arms, the summons own ; 

For Neustria's knights obeyed, 
Gascogne hath lent her horsemen good. 
And Cambria, but of late subdued. 
Sent forth her mountain-multitude. 
And Connoght poured from waste and wood 
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude 

Dark Eth O'Connor swayed. 



Right to devoted Caledon 

The storm of war rolls slowly on 

With menace deep and dread ; 
So the dark clouds with gathering power 
Suspend awhile the threatened shower. 
Till every peak and summit lower 

Round the pale pilgrim's head. 
Not with such pilgrim's startled eye 
King Robert marked the tempest nigh ! 

Resolved the brunt to bide. 
His royal summons warned the land 
That all who owned their king's command 
Should instant take the spear and brand 

To combat at his side. 
V>, who may tell the sons of fame 
That at King Robert's bidding came 

To battle for the right ! 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



411 



From Cheviot to the shores of Ross, 
From Solway-Sands to Marshal's-Moss, 

All bouned them for the fight. 
Such news the royal courier tells 
Who came to rouse dark Arran's dells ; 
But farther tidings must the ear 
Of Isabel in secret hear. 
These in her cloister walk next morn 
Thus shared she with the Maid of Lorn 



' My Edith, can I tell how dear 
Our intercourse of hearts sincere 



' No ! never to Lord Ronald's bower 
Will I again as paramour ' -^- 
' Nay, hush thee, too impatient maid, 
Until my final tale be said ! — 
The good King Robert would engage 
Edith once more his elfin page, 
By her own heart and her own eye 
Her lover's penitence to try — 
Safe in his royal charge and free. 
Should such thy final purpose be, 
Again unknown to seek the cell. 
And live and die with Lsabel.' 




Hath been to Isabel .'' — 
Judge then the sorrow of my heart 
When I must say the words. We part ! 

The cheerless convent-cell 
Was not, sweet maiden, made for thee ; 
Go thou where thy vocation free 

On happier fortunes fell. 
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betrayed. 
Though Robert knows that Lorn's high 

maid 
And his poor silent page were one. 
Versed in the fickle heart of man, 
Earnest and anxious hath he looked 
How Ronald's heart the message brooked 
That gave him with her last farewell 
The charge of Sister Isabel, 
To think upon thy better right 
And keep the faith his promise plight. 
Forgive him for thy sister's sake 
At first if vain repinings wake — 

Long since that mood is gone : 
Now dwells he on thy juster claims. 
And oft his breach of faith he blames — 

Forofive him for thine own ! ' — 



Thus spoke the maid — King Robert's eye 
Might have some glance of policy; 
Dunstaffnage had the monarch ta'en, 
And Lorn had owned King Robert's reign ; 
Her brother had to England fled, 
And there in banishment was dead ; 
Ample, through exile, death, and flight. 
O'er tower and land was Edith's right ; 
This ample right o'er tower and land 
Were safe in Ronald's faithful hand. 



Embarrassed eye and blushing cheek 
Pleasure and shame and fear bespeak I 
Yet much the reasoning Edith made : 
' Her sister's faith she must upbraid. 
Who gave such secret, dark and dear. 
In council to another's ear. 
Why should she leave the peaceful cell ? • 
How should she part with Isabel? — 
How wear that strange attire agen ? — 
How risk herself midst martial men ? — 
And how be guarded on the way .'' — 
At least she might entreat delay.' 



412 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Kind Isabel with secret smile 
Saw and forgave the maiden's wile, 
Reluctant to be thought to move 
At the first call of truant love. 



O, blame her not ! — when zephyrs wake 
The aspen's trembling leaves must shake : 
When beams the sun through April's shower 
It needs must bloom, the violet tlower; 
And Love, howe'er the maiden strive, 
Must with reviving hope revive ! 
A thousand soft excuses came 
To plead his cause 'gainst virgin shame. 
Pledged by their sires in earliest youth. 
He had her plighted faith and truth- — 
Then, 'twas her liege's strict command. 
And she beneath his royal hand 
A ward in person and in land : — 
And, last, she was resolved to stay 
Only brief space — one little day — 
Close hidden in her safe disguise 
From all, but most from Ronald's eyes — 
But once to see him more ! — nor blame 
Her wish — to hear him name her name ! — 
Then to bear back to solitude 
The thought he had his falsehood rued I 
But Isabel, who long had seen 
Her pallid cheek and pensive mien, 
And well herself the cause might know. 
Though innocent, of Edith's woe, 
Joyed, generous, that revolving time 
Gave means to expiate the crime.. 
High glowed her bosom as she said, 
' Well shall her sufferings be repaid ! ' 
Now came the parting hour — a band 
From Arran's mountains left the land : 
Their chief, Fitz-Louis, had the care 
The speechless Amadine to bear 
To Bruce with honor, as behoved 
To page the monarch dearly loved. 



The king had deemed the maiden bright 

Should reach him long before the fight, 

But storms and fate her course delay : 

It was on eve of battle-day 

When o'er the Gillie's-hill she rode. 

The landscape like a furnace glowed. 

And far as e'er the eye was borne 

The lances waved like autumn-corn. 

In battles four beneath their eye 

The forces of King Robert lie. 

And one below the hill was laid. 

Reserved for rescue and for aid ; 

And three advanced formed vawaixl-line, 

"Twixt Bannock's brook and Ninian's shrine. 

Detached was each, yet each so nigh 

As well might mutual aid supply. 



Beyond, the Southern host appears, 
A boundless wilderness of spears, 
W^hose verge or rear the anxious eye 
Strove far, but strove in vain, to spy. 
Thick flashing in the evening beam, 
Glaives, lances, bills, and banners gleam : 
And where the heaven joined with the hill. 
Was distant armor flashing still, 
So wide, so far, the boundless host 
Seemed in the blue horizon lost. 



Down from the hill the maiden passed, 
At the wild show of war aghast ; 
And traversed first the rearward host. 
Reserved for aid where needed most. 
The men of Carrick and of Ayr; 
Lennox and Lanark too, were there, 

And all the western land; 
With these the valiant of the Isles 
Beneath their chieftains ranked their files 

In many a plaided band. 
There in the centre proudly raised, 
The Bruce's royal standard blazed, 
And there Lord Ronald's banner bore 
A galley driven by sail and oar. 
A wild yet jjleasing contrast made 
Warriors in mail and plate arrayed 
With the plumed bonnet and the plaid 

By these Hebrideans worn; 
But O, unseen for three long years. 
Dear was the garb of mountaineers 

To the fair Maid of Lorn ! 
For one she looked — but he was far 
Busied amid the ranks of war — 
Yet with affection's troubled eye 
She marked his banner boldly fly, 
Gave on the countless foe a glance. 
And thought on battle's desperate chance. 



To centre of the vaward-line 
Fitz-Louis guided Amadine. 
Armed all on foot, that host appears 
A serried mass of glimmering spears. 
There stood the Marchers' warlike band. 
The warriors there of Lodon's land ; 
Ettrick and Liddell bent the yew, 
A band of archers fierce though few ; 
The men of Nith and Annan's vale, 
And the bold Spears of Teviotdale : — 
The dauntless Douglas these obey, 
And the young Stuart's gentle sway. 
Northeastward by Saint Ninian's shrine. 
Beneath fierce Randolph's charge, combine 
The warriors whom the hardy North 
From Tay to Sutherland sent forth. 
The rest of Scotland's war-array 
With Edward Bruce to westward lay. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



41. 



I^-i%*«9l. 




''^''>f,,"i?}j;.J^;^^^^^^^^^ 









Where Bannock with his broken bank 
And deep ravine protects their flank. 
Behind them, screened by sheltering wood, 
The gallant Keith, Lord Marshal, stood : 
His men-at-arms bare mace and lance. 
And plumes that wave and helms that glance. 
Thus fair divided by the king, 
Centre and right and leftward wing 
Composed his front ; nor distant far 
Was strong reserve to aid the war. 
And 't was to front of this array 
Her guide and Edith made their way. 



Here must they pause; for, in advance 

As far as one might pitch a lance, 

The monarch rode along the van, 

The foe's approaching force to scan, 

His line to marshal and to range, 

And ranks to square, and fronts to change. 

Alone he rode — from head to heel 

Sheathed in his ready arms of steel; 

Nor mounted yet on war-horse wight, 

But, till more near the shock of fight, 

Reining a palfrey low and light. 

A diadem of gold was set 

Above his bright steel basinet. 

And clasped within its glittering twine 

Was seen the glove of Argentine ; 

Truncheon or leading staff he lacks. 



Bearing instead a battle-axe. 

He ranged his soldiers for the fight 

Accoutred thus, in open sight 

Of either host. — Three bowshots far, 

Paused the deep front of England's war. 

And rested on their arms awhile. 

To close and rank their warlike file, 

And hold high council if that night 

Should view the strife or dawning light. 



O, gay yet fearful to behold, 

Flashing with steel and rough with gold. 

And bristled o'er with bills and spears. 
With plumes and pennons waving fair. 
Was that bright battle-front ! for there 

Rode England's king and peers : 
And who, that saw that monarch ride. 
His kingdom battled by his side, 
Could then his direful doom foretell ! — 
Fair was his seat in knightly selle. 
And in his sprightly eye was set 
Some spark of the Plantagenet. 
Though light and wandering was his glance. 
It flashed at sight of shield and lance. 
' Know'st thou,' he said, ' De Argentine, 
Yon knight who marshals thus their line ?' — 
' The tokens on his helmet tell 
The Bruce, my liege : I know him well.' — 
' And shall the audacious traitor brave 



414 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The presence where our banners wave ? " — 
' So please my liege,' said Argentine, 
' Were he but horsed on steed like mine, 
To give him fair and knightly chance, 
I would adventure forth my lance.' — 
' In battle-day,' the king replied, 
' Nice tourney rules are set aside. — 
Still must the rebel dare our wrath ? 
Set on him — Sweep him from our path ! ' 
And at King Edward's signal soon 
Dashed from the ranks Sir Henry Boune. 



Of Hereford's high blood he came, 

A race renowned for knightly fame. 

He burned before his monarch's eye 

To do some deed of chivalry. 

He spurred his steed, he couched his lance, 

And darted on the Bruce at once. 

As motionless as rocks that bide 

The wrath of the advancing tide, 

The Bruce stood fast. — Each breast beat 

high 
And dazzled was each gazing eye — 
The heart had hardly time to think. 
The eyelid scarce had time to wink. 
While on the king, like flash of flame, 
Spurred to full speed the war-horse came I 
The partridge may the falcon mock. 
If that slight palfrey stand the shock — 
But, swerving from the knight's career. 
Just as they met, Bruce shunned the spear. 
Onward the baftled warrior bore 
His course — but soon his course was 

o'er ! — 
High in his stirrups stood the king, 
And gave his battle-axe the swing. 
Right on De Boune the whiles he passed 
Fell that stern dint — the first — the last ! — 
Such strength upon the blow was put 
The helmet crashed like hazel-nut ; 
The axe-shaft with its brazen clasp 
Was shivered to the gauntlet grasp. 
Springs from the blow the startled horse, 
Drops to the plain the lifeless corse ; 
First of that fatal field, how soon. 
How sudden, fell the fierce De Boune ! 



One pitying glance the monarch sped 

Where on the field his foe lay dead; 

Then gently turned his palfrey's head, 

And, pacing back his sober way, 

Slowly he gained his own array. 

There round their king the leaders crowd. 

And blame his recklessness aloud 

That risked 'gainst each adventurous spear 

A life so valued and so dear. 

His broken weapon's shaft surveyed 



The king, and careless answer made, 
' My loss may pay my folly's tax : 
I 've broke my trusty battle-axe." 
'T was then Fitz- Louis bending low 
Did Isabel's commission show; 
Edith disguised at distance stands. 
And hides her blushes with her hands. 
The monarch's brow has changed its hue, 
Away the gory axe he threw. 
While to the seeming page he drew. 

Clearing war's terrors from his eye. 
Her hand with gentle ease he took 
With such a kind protecting look 

As to a weak and timid boy 
Might speak that elder brother's care 
And elder brother's love were there. 



' Fear not,' he said, ' young Amadine ! ' 

Then whispered, ' Still that name be thine. 

Fate plays her wonted fantasy. 

Kind Amadine, with thee and me, 

And sends thee here in doubtful hour. 

But soon we are beyond her power; 

For on this chosen battle-plain, 

Victor or vanquished, I remain. 

Do thou to yonder hill repair; 

The followers of our host are there, 

And all who may not weapons bear. — 

Fitz-Louis, have him in thy care. — 

Joyful we meet, if all go well ; 

If not, in Arran's holy cell 

Thou must take part with Isabel ; 

For brave Lord Ronald too hath sworn. 

Not to regain the Maid of Lorn — 

The bliss on earth he covets most — 

Would he forsake his battle-post. 

Or shun the fortune that may fall 

To Bruce, to Scotland, and to all. — 

But, hark ! some news these trumpets tell ; 

Forgive my haste — farewell ! — farewell ! * 

And in a lower voice he said, 

'Be of good cheer — farewell, sweet maid!' 



' What train of dust, with trumpet-sound 
And glimmering spears, is wheeling round 
Our leftward flank ?' — the monarch cried 
To Moray's Earl who rode beside. 
' Lo ! round thy station pass the foes ! 
Randolph, thy wreath hath lost a rose.' 
The Earl his visor closed, and said 
' My wreath shall bloom, or life shall fade. — 
Follow, my household ! ' and they go 
Like lightning on the advancing foe. 
'My liege,' said noble Douglas then, 
' Earl Randolph has but one to ten; 
Let me go forth his band to aid ! ' — 
' Stir not. The error he hath made, 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



415 



Let him amend it as he may ; 
I will not weaken mine array.' 
Then loudly rose the conflict-cry, 
And Douglas's brave heart swelled high, 
' My liege,' he said, ' with patient ear 
I must not Moray's death-knell hear ! ' — 
' Then go — but speed thee back again.' 
Forth sprung the Douglas with his train : 
But when they won a rising hill 
He bade his followers hold them still. — 
' See, see ! the routed Southern fly ! 
The Earl hath won the victory. 



Ah ! gentle planet ! other sight 
Shall greet thee, next returning night, 
Of broken arms and banners tore. 
And marshes dark with human gore. 
And piles of slaughtered men and horse, 
And Forth that floats the frequent corse, 
And many a wounded wretch to plain 
Beneath thy silver light in vain ! 
But now from England's host the cry 
Thou hear s't of wassail revelry, 
While from the Scottish legions pass 
The murmured prayer, the early mass ! — 




Lo ! where yon steeds run masterless. 
His banner towers above the press. 
Rein up ; our presence would impair 
The fame we come too late to share.' 
Back to the host the Douglas rode. 
And soon glad tidings are abroad 
That, Dayncourt by stout Randolph slain, 
His followers fled with loosened rein. — 
That skirmish closed the busy day, 
And couched in battle's prompt array. 
Each army on their weapons lay. 



It was a night of lovely June, 

High rode in cloudless blue the moon, 

Demayet smiled beneath her ray ; 
Old Stirling's towers arose in light, 
And, twined in links of silver bright. 

Her winding river lay. 



Here, numbers had presumption given ; 
There, bands o'er-matched sought aid from 
Heaven. 



On Gillie's-hill, whose height commands 
The battle-field, fair Edith stands 
With serf and page unfit for war, 
To eye the conflict from afar. 
O, with what doubtful agony 
She sees the dawning tint the sky ! — 
Now on the Ochils gleams the sun. 
And glistens now Demayet dun; 
Is it the lark that carols shrill, 
Is it the bittern's early hum ? 
No ! — distant, but increasing still, 
The trumpet's sound swells up the hill, 
With the deep murmur of the drum. 
Responsive from the Scottish host, 



4i6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Pipe-clang and bugle-sound were tossed, 
His breast and brow each soldier crpssed 

And started from the ground ; 
Armed and arrayed for instant fight, 
Rose archer, spearman, squire and knight, 
And in the pomp of battle bright 

The dread battalia frowned. 



Now onward and in open view 

The countless ranks of England drew, 

Dark rolling like the ocean-tide 

When the rough west hath chafed his pride. 

And his deep roar sends challenge wide 

To all that bars his way ! 
In front the gallant archers trode, 
The men-at-arms behind them rode. 
And midmost of the phalanx broad 

The monarch held his sway. 
Beside him many a war-horse fumes, 
Around him waves a sea of plumes. 
Where many a knight in battle known, 
And some who spurs had first braced on 
And deemed that light should see them won, 

King Edward's bests obey. 
De Argentine attends his side. 
With stout De Valence, Pembroke's pride. 
Selected champions from the train 
To wait upon his bridle-rein. 
Upon the Scottish foe he gazed — 
At once before his sight amazed 

Sunk banner, spear, and shield : 
Each weapon-point is downward sent. 
Each warrior to the ground is bent. 
'The rebels, Argentine, repent! 

For pardon they have kneeled.' — 
'Ay ! — but they bend to other powers. 
And other pardon sue than ours ! 
See where yon birefoot abbot stands 
And blesses them with lifted hands ! 
Upon the spot where they have kneeled 
These men will die or win the field.' — 
' Then prove we if they die or win ! 
Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begin.' 



Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high 

Just as the Northern ranks arose, 
Signal for England's archery 

To halt and'bend their bows. 
Then stepped each yeoman forth a pace. 
Glanced at the intervening space. 

And raised his left hand high ; 
To the right ear the cords they bring — 
At once ten thousand bow-strings ring, 

Ten thousand arrows fly ! 
Nor paused on the devoted Scot 
The ceaseless fury of their shot ; 

As fiercely and as fast 



Forth whistling came the gray-goose wing 
As the wild hailstones pelt and ring 

Adown December's blast. 
Nor mountain targe of tough bull-hide, 
Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide ; 
Woe, woe to Scotland's bannered pride. 

If the fell shower may last ! 
Upon the right behind the wood. 
Each by his steed dismounted stood 

The Scottish chivalry ; — 
With foot in stirrup, hand on mane, 
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain 
His own keen heart, his eager train, 
Until the archers gained the plain; 

Then, ' Mount, ye gallants free ! ' 
He cried; and vaulting from the ground 
His saddle every horseman found. 
On high their glittering crests they toss, 
As springs the wild-fire from the moss ; 
The shield hangs down on every breast. 
Each ready lance is in the rest. 

And loud shouts Edward Bruce, 
' Forth, Marshal ! on the peasant foe ! 
We '11 tame the terroi's of their bow. 

And cut the bow-string loose ! ' 



Then spurs were dashed in chargers' flanks. 
They rushed among the archer ranks. 
No spears were there the shock to let, 
No stakes to turn the charge were set. 
And how shall yeoman's armor slight 
Stand the long lance and mace of might ? 
Or what may their short swords avail 
'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail ? 
Amid their ranks the chargers sprung, 
High o'er their heads the weapons swung, 
And shriek and groan and vengeful shout 
Give note of triumph and of rout ! 
Awhile with stubborn hardihood 
Their English hearts the strife made good. 
Borne down at length on every side. 
Compelled to flight they scatter wide. — 
Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee. 
And bound the deer of Dallom-Lee ! 
The broken vows of Bannock's shore 
Shall in the greenwood ring no more ! 
Round Wakefield's merry May-pole now 
The maids may twine the summer bough, 
May northward look with longing glance 
For those that wont to lead the dance, 
For the blithe archers look in vain ! 
Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en. 
Pierced through, trode down, by thousands 

slain. 
They cumber Bannock's bloody plain. 

XXIV. 

The king with scorn beheld their flight. 
' Are these,' he said, ' our yeomen wight ? 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



417 



Twelve Scottish lives his baldric bore ! 
Fitter to plunder chase or park 
Than make a manly foe their mark. — 
Forward, each gentleman and knight ! 
Let gentle blood show generous might 
And chivalry redeem the fight ! ' 
To rightward of the wild affray, 
The field showed fair and level way ; 

But in mid-space the Bruce's care 
Had bored the ground with many a pit, 
With turf and brushwood hidden yet. 

That formed a ghastly snare. 
Rushing, ten thousand horsemen came, 
With spears in rest and hearts on flame 

That panted for the shock ! 
With blazing crests and banners spread, 
And trumpet-clang and clamor dread. 
The wide plain thundered to their tread 

As far as Stirling rock. 
Down ! down ! in headlong overthrow. 
Horseman and horse, the foremost go, 

Wild floundering on the field ! 
The first are in destruction's gorge, 
Their followers wildly o'er them urge ; — 

The knightly helm and shield, 
The mail, the acton, and the spear. 
Strong hand, high heart, are useless here ! 
Loud from the mass confused the cry 
Of dying warriors swells on high. 
And steeds that shriek in agony ! 
They came like mountain-torrent red 
That thunders o'er its rocky bed ; 
They broke like that same torrent's wave 
When swallowed by a darksome cave. 
Billows on billows burst and boil. 
Maintaining still the stern turmoil, 
And to their wild and tortured groan 
Each adds new terrors of his own ! 



Too strong in courage and in might 
Was England yet to yield the fight. 

Her noblest all are here ; 
Names that to fear were never known, 
Bold Norfolk's, Earl De Brotherton, 

And Oxford's famed De Vere. 
There Gloster plied the bloody sword, 
And Berkley, Grey, and Hereford, 

Bottetourt and Sanzavere, 
Ross, Montague, and Mauley came. 
And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's fame - 
Names known too well in Scotland's war 
At Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar, 
Blazed broader yet in after years 
At Cressy red and fell Poitiers. 
Pembroke with these and Argentine 
Brought up the rearward battle-line. 
With caution o'er the ground they tread, 
Slippery with blood and piled with dead, 



Till hand to hand in battle set. 
The bills with spears and axes met, 
And, closing dark on every side. 
Raged the full contest far and wide. 
Then was the strength of Douglas tried, 
Then proved was Randolph's generous pride, 
And well did Stewart's actions grace 
The sire of Scotland's royal race ! 

Firmly they kept their ground; 
As firmly England onward pressed. 
And down went many a noble crest, 
And rent was many a valiant breast, 

And Slaughter revelled round. 

XXVI. 

Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was set, 
Unceasing blow by blow was met ; 

The groans of those who fell 
Were drowned amid the shriller clang 
That from the blades and harness rang, 

And in the battle-yell. 
Yet fast they fell, unheard, forgot. 
Both Southern fierce and hardy Scot ; 
And O, amid that waste of life 
What various motives fired the strife ! 
The aspiring noble bled for fame. 
The patriot for his country's claim ; 
This knight his youthful strength to prove, 
And that to win his lady's love ; 
Some fought from ruffian thirst of blood, 
From habit some or hardihood. 
But ruffian stern and soldier good. 

The noble and the slave, 
From various cause the same wild road, 
On the same bloody morning, trode 

To that dark inn, the grave ! 



The tug of strife to flag begins. 
Though neither loses yet nor wins. 
High rides the sun, thick rolls the dust. 
And feebler speeds the blow and thrust. 
Douglas leans on his war-sword now. 
And Randolph wipes his bloody brow ; 
Nor less had toiled each Southern knight 
From morn till mid-day in the fight. 
Strong Egremont for air must gasp, 
Beauchamp undoes his visor-clasp. 
And Montague must quit his spear. 
And sinks thy falchion, bold De Vere I 
The blows of Berkley fall less fast. 
And gallant Pembroke's bugle-blast 

Hath lost its lively tone; 
Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word. 
And Percy's shout was fainter heard, — 

' My merry-men, fight on ! ' 



Bruce, with the pilot's wary eye, 

The slackening of the storm could spy. 



27 



4i8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL IVO/^KS. 



' One effort more and Scotland 's free ! 
Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee 

Is firm as Ailsa Rock; 
Rush on with Higliland sword and targe, 
I with my Carrick spearmen charge ; 

Now forward to the shock ! ' 
At once the spears were forward thrown, 
Against the sun the broadswords shone : 
The pibroch lent its maddening tone. 
And loud King Robert's voice was 

known — 
• Carrick, press on — they fail, they fail I 
Press on, brave sons of Innisgail, 

The foe is fainting fast ! 
Each strike for parent, child, and wife, 
For Scotland, liberty, and life, — 

The battle cannot last ! ' 

XXIX. 

The fresh and desperate onset bore 
The foes three furlongs back and more. 
Leaving their noblest in their gore. 

Alone, De Argentine 
Yet bears on high his red-cross shield, 
Gathers the relics of the field. 
Renews the ranks where they have reeled, 

And still makes good the line. 
Brief strife but fierce his efforts raise, 
A bright but momentary blaze. 
Fair Edith heard the Southern shout. 
Beheld them turning from the rout. 
Heard the wild call their trumpets sent 
In notes 'twixt triumph and lament. 
That rallying force, combined anew, 
Appeared in her distracted view 

To hem the Islesmen round ; 
' O God ! the combat they renew, 

And is no rescue found ! 
And ye that look thus tamely on, 
And see your native land o'erthrown, 
O, are your hearts of fiesh or stone .'' ' 



The multitude that watched afar. 
Rejected from the ranks of war. 
Had not unmoved beheld the fight 
When strove the Bruce for Scotland's 

right; 
Each heart had caught the patriot spark, 
Old man and stripling, priest and clerk, 
Bondsman and serf; even female hand 
Stretched to the hatchet or the brand ; 
But when mute Amadine they heard 
Give to their zeal his signal-word 

A frenzy fired the throng ; — 
' Portents and miracles impeach 
Our sloth — the dumb our duties teach — 
And he that gives the mute his speech 
Can bid tlie weak be stronsf. 



To us as to our lords are given 

A native earth, a promised heaven ; 

To us as to our lords belongs 

The vengeance for our nation's wrongs ; 

The choice 'twixt death or freedom warms 

Our breasts as theirs — To arms ! to arms ! ' 

To arms they flew, — axe, club, or spear, — 

And mimic ensigns high they rear. 

And, like a bannered host afar. 

Bear down on England's wearied war. 



Already scattered o'er the plain. 
Reproof, command, and counsel vain. 
The rearward squadrons fled amain 

Or made but doubtful stay; — 
But when they marked the seeming show 
Of fresh and fierce and marshalled foe. 

The boldest broke array. 
O, give their hapless prince his due ! 
In vain the royal Edward threw 

His person mid the spears. 
Cried, ' Fight ! ' to terror and despair, 
Menaced and wept and tore his hair, 

And cursed their caitiff fears ; 
Till Pembroke turned his bridle rein 
And forced him from the fatal plain. 
With them rode Argentine until 
They gained the summit of the hill, 

But cjuitted there the train : — 
' In yonder field a gage I left, 
I must not live of fame bereft; 

I needs must turn again. 
Speed hence, my liege, for on your trace 
The fiery Douglas takes the chase, 

I know his banner well. 
God send my sovereign joy and bliss, 
And many a happier field than this ! — 

Once more, my liege, farewell ! ' 



Again he faced the battle-field, — 
Wildly they fly, are slain, or yield. 
' Now then,' he said, and couched his spear. 
'My course is run, the goal is near; 
One effort more, one brave career. 

Must close this race of mine.' 
Then in his stirrups rising high. 
He shouted loud his battle-cry, 

' Saint James for Argentine ! ' 
And of the bold pursuers four 
The gallant knight from saddle bore ; 
But not unharmed — a lance's point 
Has found his breastplate's loosened joint, 

An axe has razed his crest; 
Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord, 
Who pressed the chase with gory sword. 

He rode with spear in rest, 
And through his bloody tartans bored 

And through his <:allant breast. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



419 




Nailed to the earth, the mountaineer 
Yet writhed him up against the spear. 

And swung his broadsword round ! 
Stirrup, steel-boot, and cuish gave way 
Beneath that blow's tremendous sway, 

The blood gushed from tlie wound : 
And the grim Lord of Colonsay 

Hath turned him on the ground. 
And laughed in death-pang that his blade 
The mortal thrust so well repaid. 



Now toiled the Bruce, the battle done, 
To use his conquest boldly won ; 
And gave command for horse and spear 
To press the Southron's scattered rear. 
Nor let his broken force combine, 
When the war-cry of Argentine 

Fell faintly on his ear; 
* Save, save his life,' he cried, ' O/save 
The kind, the noble, and the brave ! ' 
The squadrons round free passage gave, 

The wounded knight drew near; 
He raised his red-cross shield no more, 
Helm, cuish, and breastplate streamed 

with gore, 
Yei, as he saw the king advance, 
He strove even then to couch his lance — • 

The effort was in vain ! 
The spur-stroke failed to rouse the horse ; 



Wounded and weary, in mid course 

He stumbled on the plain. 
Then foremost was the generous Bruce 
To raise his head, his helm to loose ; — 

• Lord Earl, the day is thine ! 
My sovereign's charge and adverse fate 
Have made our meeting all too late ; 

Yet this may Argentine 
As boon from ancient comrade crave — 
A Christian's mass, a soldier's grave.' 

XXXIV. 

Bruce pressed his dying hand — its grasp 
Kindly replied ; but, in his clasp. 

It stiffened and grew cold — 
' And, O farewell ! ' the victor cried, 
' Of chivalry the flower and pride. 

The arm in battle bold. 
The courteous mien, the noble race. 
The stainless faith, the manly face ! — 
Bid Ninian's convent light their shrine 
For late-wake of De Argentine. 
O'er better knight on death-bier laid 
Torch' never gleamed nor mass was 
said ! ' 

XXXV. 

Nor for De Argentine alone 
Through Ninian's church these torches 
shone 



420 



SCOTT'S POETIC AT WORKS. 



And rose the death-prayer's awful tone. 

That yellow lustre glimmered pale 

On broken plate and bloodied mail. 

Rent crest and shattered coronet, 

Of baron, earl, and banneret ; 

And the best names that England knew 

Claimed in the death-prayer dismal due. 

Yet mourn not, Land of Fame ! 
Though ne'er the Leopards on thy shield 
Retreated from so sad a field 

Since Norman William came. 
Oft may thine annals justly boast 
Of battles stern by Scotland lost ; 

Grudge not her victory 
When for her freeborn rights she strove ; 
Rights dear to all who freedom love. 

To none so dear as thee ! 



Turn we to Bruce whose curious ear 
Must from Fitz-Louis tidings hear; 
With him a hundred voices tell 
Of prodigy and miracle, 

' For the mute page had spoke.' — 
' Page ! ' said Fitz-Louis, ' rather say 
An angel sent from realms of day 

To burst the English yoke. 
I saw his plume and bonnet drop 
When hurrying from the mountain top 
A lovely brow, dark locks that wave, 
To his bright eyes new lustre gave, 
A step as light upon the green, 
As if his pinions waved unseen ! ' 



' Spoke he with none ? ' — ' With none — 

one word 
Burst when he saw the Island Lord 
Returning from the battle-field.' — 
' What answer made the chief ? " — ' He 

kneeled, 
Durst not look up, but muttered low 
Some mingled sounds that none might 

know, 
And greeted him 'twixt joy and fear 
As being of superior sphere.' 



Even upon Bannock's bloody plain 
Heaped then with thousands of the slain. 
Mid victor monarch's musings high. 
Mirth laughed in good King Robert's eye : — 
' And bore he such angelic air, 
Such noble front, such waving hair? 
Hath Ronald kneeled to him ? ' he said ; 
' Then must we call the church to aid — 
Our will be to the abbot known 
Ere these strange news are wider blown, 
To Cambuskenneth straight he pass 
And deck the church for solemn mass. 
To pay for high deliverance given 
A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven. 
Let him array besides such state. 
As should on princes' nuptials wait. 
Ourself the cause, through fortune's spite, 
That once broke short that spousal rite, 
Ourself will grace with early morn 
The bridal of the Maid of Lorn.' 



CfjE Eort of t|)e Esks. 
CONCLUSION. 

Go forth, my Song, upon thy venturous way ; 
Go boldly forth ; nor yet thy master blame 
Who chose no patron for his humble lay. 
And graced thy numbers with no friendly name 
Whose partial zeal might smooth thy path to fame. 
There was — and O, how many sorrows crowd 
Into these two brief words ! — /here was a claim 
By generous friendship given — had fate allowed, 
It well had bid thee rank the proudest of the proud ! 

All angel now — yet little less than all 
While still a pilgrim in our world below ! 
What 'vails it us that patience to recall 
Which hid its own to soothe all other woes ; 
What 'vails to tell how Virtue's purest glow 
Shone yet more lovely in a form so fair : 
And, least of all, what 'vails the world should know 
That one poor garland, twined to deck thy hair, 
Is hung upon thy hearse to droop and wither there ! 



Ct)E dTtelt) of imaterloo. 



Though Valois braved young Edward's gentle hand, 

And Albert rushed on Henry's way-worn band, 

With Europe's chosen sons, in arms renowned, 

Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they looked, 

Nor Audley's squires nor Mowbray's yeomen brooked, — 

They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound. 

Akenside. 



TO 

HER GRACE 

THE 



DUCHESS OF WELLINGTON, 

PRINCESS OF WATERLOO, 
&C., &C., &C., 

THE FOLLOWING VERSES 

ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

It may be some apology for the imperfections of this poem, that it was composed hastily, and during a short tour 
upon the Continent, when the Author's labors were liable to frequent interruption; but its best apology is, that it was 
written for the purpose of assisting the Waterloo Subscription. 
Abbotsford, 1815. 



erfjE iFieltJ of raaterl00. 



Fair Brussels, thou art far behind. 
Though, lingering on the morning wind. 

We yet may hear the hour 
Pealed over orchard and canal, 
With voice prolonged and measured fall. 

From proud Saint Michael's tower; 
Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us now, 
Where the tall beeches' glossy bough 

For many a league around, 
With birch and darksome oak between. 
Spreads deep and far a pathless screen 

Of tangled forest ground. 
Stems planted close by stems defy 



The adventurous foot — the curious eye 

For access seeks in vain ; 
And the brown tapestry of leaves. 
Strewed on the blighted ground, receives 

Nor sun nor air nor rain. 
No opening glade dawns on our way, 
No streamlet glancing to the ray 

Our woodland path has crossed : 
And the straight causeway which we tread 
Prolongs a line of dull arcade. 
Unvarying through the unvaried shade 

Until in distance lost. 



A brighter, livelier scene succeeds : 
In groups the scattering wood recedes, 



424 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads, 

And corn-fields glance between ; 
The peasant at his labor blithe 
Plies the hooked staff and shortened 
scythe : — 

But when these ears were green, 
Placed close within destruction's scope. 
Full little was that rustic's hope 

Their ripening to have seen ! 
And, lo ! a hamlet and its fane : — 
Let not the gazer with disdain 

Their architecture view; 
For yonder rude ungraceful shrine 
And disproportioned spire are thine, 

Immortal Waterloo ! 



Fear not the heat, though full and high 
The sun has scorched the autumn sky, 
And scarce a forest straggler now 
To shade us spreads a greenwood bough ; 
These fields have seen a hotter day 
Than e'er was fired by sunny ray. 
Yet one mile on — yon shattered hedge 
Crests the soft hill whose long smooth ridge 

Looks on the field below, 
And sinks so gently on the dale 
That not the folds of Beauty's veil 

In easier curves can flow. 



Brief space from thence the ground again 
Ascending slowly from the plain 

Forms an opposing screen, 
Which with its crest of upland ground 
Shuts the horizon all around. 

The softened vale between 
Slopes smooth and fair for courser's tread; 
Not the most timid maid need dread 
To give her snow-white palfrey head 

On that wide stubble-ground ; 
Nor wood nor tree nor bush are there, 
Her course to intercept or scare. 

Nor fosse nor fence are found, 
Save where from out her shattered bowers 
Rise Houramont's dismantled towers. 



Now, see'st thou aught in this lone scene 
Can tell of that which late hath been? — 

A stranger might reply, 
' The bare extent of stubble-plain 
Seems lately lightened of its grain ; 
And yonder sable tracks remain 
Marks of the peasant's ponderous wain 

When harvest-home was nigh. 
On these broad spots of trampled ground 
Perchance the rustics danced such round 

As Teniers loved to draw ; 
And where the earth seems scorched by 
flame, 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



425 



To dress the homely feast they came, 
And toiled the kerchiefed village dame 
Around her fire of straw.' 



So deem'st thou — so each mortal deems 
Of that which is from that which seems : — 

But other harvest here 
Than that which peasant's scythe demands 
Was gathered in by sterner hands, 

With bayonet, blade, and spear. 
No vulgar crop was theirs to reap. 
No stinted harvest thin and cheap ! 



The fierce dragoon through battle's flood 

Dashed the hot war-horse on. 
These spots of excavation tell 
The ravage of the bursting shell — 
And feel'st thou not the tainted steam 
That reeks against the sultry beam 

From yonder trenched mound .'' 
The pestilential fumes declare 
That Carnage has replenished there 

Her garner-hpuse profound. 

VII. 

Far other harvest-home and feast 

Than claims the boor from scythe released 




Heroes before each fatal sweep 

Fell thick as ripened grain ; 
And ere the darkening of the day. 
Piled high as autumn shocks there lay 
The ghastly harvest of the fray, 
The corpses of the slain. 



Ay, look again — that line so black 

And trampled marks the bivouac, 

Yon deep-graved ruts the artillery's track. 

So often lost and won ; 
And close beside the hardened mud 
Still shows where, fetlock-deep in blood, 



On these scorched fields were known ! 
Death hovered o'er the maddening rout. 
And in the thrilling battle-shout 
Sent for the bloody banquet out 

A summons of his own. 
Through rolling smoke the Demon's eye 
Could well each destined guest espy, 
Well could his ear in ecstasy 

Distinguish every tone 
That filled the chorus of the fray — 
From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray, 
From charging squadrons' wild hurra. 
From the wild clang that marked their 



426 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Down to the dying groan 
And the last sob of life's decay 
When breath was all but flown. 



Feast on, stern foe of mortal life, 
Feast on ! — but think not that a strife 
With such promiscuous carnage rife 

Protracted space may last ; 
The deadly tug of war at length 
Must limits find in human strength, 

And cease when these are past. 
Vain hope ! — that morn's o'erclouded sun 
Heard the wild shout of fight begun 

Ere he attained his height, 
And through the war-smoke volumed high 
Still peals that unremitted cry. 

Though now he stoops to night. 
For ten long hours of doubt and dread. 
Fresh succors from the extended head 
Of either hill the contest fed; 

Still clown the slope they drew. 
The charge of columns paused not, 
Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot : 

For all that war could do 
Of skill and force was proved that day. 
And turned not yet the doubtful fray 

On bloody Waterloo. 



Pale Brussels ! then what thoughts were 

thine, 
When ceaseless from the distant line 

Continued thunders came ! 
Each burgher held his breath to hear 
These forerunners of havoc near, 

Of rapine and of flame. 
What ghastly sights were thine to meet. 
When, rolling through thy stately street. 
The wounded showed their mangled plight 
In token of the unfinished fight. 
And from each anguish-laden wain 
The blood-drops laid thy dust like rain ! 
How often in the distant drum 
Heard'st thou the fell invader come. 
While Ruin, shouting to his band, 
Shook high her torch and gory brand ! — 
Cheer thee, fair city ! From yon stand 
Impatient still his outstretched hand 

Points to his prey in vain. 
While, maddening in his eager mood 
And all unwont to be withstood. 

He fires the fight again. 



' On ! On ! ' was still his stern exclaim ; 
' Confront the battery's jaws of flame ! 

Rush on the levelled gun ! 
My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance ! 



Each Hulan forward with his lance. 
My Guard — my chosen — charge for 
France, 

France and Napoleon ! ' 
Loud answered their acclaiming shout. 
Greeting the mandate which sent out 
Their bravest and their best to dare 
The fate their leader shunned to share. 
But He, his country's sword and shield. 
Still in the battle-front revealed 
Where danger fiercest swept the field, 

Came like a beam of light, 
In action prompt, in sentence brief — 
* Soldiers, stand firm ! ' exclaimed the chief, 

' England shall tell the fight ! ' 



On came the whirlwind — like the last 
But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast — 
On came the whirlwind — steel-gleams broke 
Like lightning through the rolling smoke ; 

The war was waked anew. 
Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud. 
And from their throats with flash and cloud 

Their showers of iron threw. 
Beneath their fire in full career 
Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier. 
The lancer couched his ruthless spear. 
And hurrying as to havoc near 

The cohorts' eagles flew. 
In one dark torrent broad and strong 
The advancing onset rolled along, 
Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim. 
That from the shroud of smoke and flame 
Pealed wildly the imperial name. 



But on the British heart were lost 
The terrors of the charging host; 
For not an eye the storm that viewed 
Changed its proud glance of fortitude. 
Nor was one forward footstep staid. 
As dropped the dying and the dead. 
Fast as their ranks the thunders tear. 
Fast they renewed each serried scjuare ; 
And on the wounded and the slain 
Closed their diminished files again, 
Till from their line scarce spears' lengths 

three 
Emerging from the smoke they see 
Helmet and plume and panoply — 

Then waked their fire at once ! 
Each musketeer's revolving knell, 
As fast, as regularly fell, 
As when they practise to display 
Their discipline on festal day. 

Then down went helm and lance, 
Down were the eagle banners sent. 
Down reeling steeds and riders went. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



427 



Corselets were pierced and pennons rent; 

And to augment the fray, 
Wheeled full against their staggering flanks, 
The English horsemen's foaming ranks 

Forced their resistless way. 
Then to the musket-knell succeeds 
The clash of swords, the neigh of steeds. 
As plies the smith his clanging trade. 
Against the cuirass rang the blade ; 
And while amid their close array 
The well-served cannon rent their way, 
And while amid their scattered band 
Raged the fi&rce rider's bloody brand, 
Recoiled in common' rout and fear 
Lancer and guard and cuirassier, 
Horsemen and foot, — a mingled host. 
Their leaders fallen, their standards lost. 



Then, Wellington ! thy piercing eye 
This crisis caught of destiny — 

The British host had stood 
That morn 'gainst charge of sword and 

lance 
As their own ocean-rocks hold stance, 
But when thy voice had said, ' Advance ! ' 

They were their ocean's flood. — 
O thou whose inauspicious aim 
Hath wrought thy host this hour of 

shame, 
Think'st thou thy broken bands will bide 
The terrors of yon rushing tide ? 
Or will thy chosen brook to feel 
The British shock of levelled steel ? 

Or dost thou turn thine eye 
"Where coming squadrons gleam afar, 
And fresher thunders wake the war. 

And other standards fly ? — 
Think not that in yon columns file 
Thy conquering troops from distant Dyle — 

Is Blucher yet unknown ? 
Or dwells not in thy memory still. 
Heard frequent in thine hour of ill, 
What notes of hate and vengeance thrill 

In Prussia's trumpet tone .'' — 
What yet remains ? — shall it be thine 
To head the relics of thy line 

In one dread effort more ? — 
The Roman lore thy leisure loved. 
And thou canst tell what fortune proved 

That chieftain who of yore 
Ambition's dizzy paths essayed, 
And with the gladiators' aid 
For empire enterprised — 
He stood the cast his rashness played, 
Left not the victims he had made, 
Dug his red grave with his own blade, 
And on the field he lost was laid. 
Abhorred — but not despised. 



But if revolves thy fainter thought 
On safety — howsoever bought — 
Then turn thy fearful rein and ride. 
Though twice ten thousand men have died 

On this eventful day, 
To gild the military fame 
Which thou for life in traffic tame 

Wilt barter thus away. 
Shall future ages tell this tale 
Of inconsistence faint and frail ? 
And art thou he of Lodi's bridge, 
Marengo's field, and Wagram's ridge ! 

Or is thy soul like mountain-tide 
That, swelled by winter storm and shower. 
Rolls down in turbulence of power 

A torrent fierce and wide ; 
Reft of these aids, a rill obscure, 
Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor, 

Whose channel shows displayed 
The wrecks of its impetuous course, 
But not one symptom of the force 

By which these wrecks were made ! 



Spur on thy way ! — since now thine ear 
Has brooked thy veterans' wish to hear. 

Who as thy flight they eyed 
Exclaimed — while tears of anguish came. 
Wrung forth by pride and rage and shame — 

' O, that he had but died ! ' 
But yet, to sum this hour of ill, 
Look ere thou leavest the fatal hill 

Back on yon broken ranks — 
Upon whose wild confusion gleams 
The moon, as on the troubled streams 

When rivers break their banks, 
And to the ruined peasant's eye 
Objects half seen roll swiftly by, 

Down the dread current hurled — 
So mingle banner, wain, and gun. 
Where the tumultuous flight rolls on 
Of warriors who when morn begun 

Defied a banded world. 

XVL 

List — frequent to the hurrying rout, 
The stern pursuers' vengeful shout 
Tells that upon their broken rear 
Rages the Prussian's bloody spear. 

So fell a shriek was none 
When Beresina's icy flood 
Reddened and thawed with flame and blood 
And, pressing on thy desperate way, 
Raised oft and long their wild hurra 

The children of the Don. 
Thine ear no yell of horror cleft 
So ominous when, all bereft 
Of aid, the valiant Polack left — 



428 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ay, left by thee — found soldier's grave 
In Leipsic's corpse-encumbered wave. 
Fate, in these various perils past. 
Reserved thee still some future cast ; 
On the dread die thou now hast thrown 
Hangs not a single field alone, 
Nor one campaign — thy martial fame, 
Thy empire, dynasty, and name. 

Have felt the final stroke ; 
And now o'er thy devoted head 
The last stern vial's wrath is shed, 

The last dread seal is broke. 



Since live thou wilt — refuse not now 
Before these demagogues to bow. 
Late objects of thy scorn and hate, 
Who shall thy once imperial fate 
Make wordy theme of vain debate. — 
Or shall we say thou stoop'st less low 
In seeking refuge from the foe. 
Against whose heart in prosperous life 
Thine hand hath ever held the knife? 

Such homage hath been paid 
By Roman and by Grecian voice, 
And there were honor in the choice. 

If it were freely made. 
Then safely come — in one so low, — 
So lost, — we cannot own a foe ; 
Though dear experience bid us end, 
In thee we ne'er can hail a friend. — 
Come, howsoe'er — but do not hide 
Close in thy heart that germ of pride 
Erewhile by gifted bard espied, 

That 'yet imperial hope ; ' 
Think not that for a fresh rebound, 
To raise ambition from the ground, 

We yield thee means or scope. 
In safety come — but ne'er again 
Hold type of independent reign ; 

No islet calls thee lord. 
We leave thee no confederate band. 
No symbol of thy lost command. 
To be a dagger in the hand 

From which we wrenched the sword. 



Yet, even in yon sequestered spot. 
May worthier conquest be thy lot 

Than yet thy life has known ; 
Conquest unbought by blood or harm. 
That needs nor foreign aid nor arm, 

A triumph all thine own. 
Such waits thee when thou slialt control 
Those passions wild, that stubborn soul, 

That marred thy prosperous scene : — 
Hear this — from no unmoved heart. 
Which sighs, comparing what Tiiou ART 

With what thou mightst have been ! 



Thou too, whose deeds of fame renewed 

Bankrupt a nation's gratitude. 

To thine own noble heart must owe 

More than the meed she can bestow. 

For not a people's just acclaim. 

Not the full hail of Europe's fame. 

Thy prince's smiles, thy state's decree. 

The ducal rank, the gartered knee. 

Not these such pure delight afford 

As that, when hanging up thy sword, 

Well mayst thou think, ' This honest steel 

Was ever drawn for pi^blic weal ; 

And, such was rightful Heaven's decree, 

Ne'er sheathed unless with victory!' 

XX. 

Look forth once more with softened heart 
Ere from the field of fame we part ; 
Triumph and sorrow border near, 
And joy oft melts into a tear. 
Alas ! what links of love that morn 
Has War's rude hand asunder torn ! 
For ne'er was field so sternly fought. 
And ne'er was conquest dearer bought. 
Here piled in common slaughter sleep 
Those whom affection long shall weep : 
Here rests the sire that ne'er shall strain 
His orphans to his heart again ; 
The son whom on his native shore 
The parent's voice shall bless no more; 
The bridegroom who has hardly pressed 
His blushing consort to his breast : 
The husband whom through many a year 
Long love and mutual faith endear. 
Thou canst not name one tender tie 
But here dissolved its relics lie ! 
O, when thou see'st some mourner's veil 
Shroud her thin form and visage pale, 
Or mark'st the matron's bursting tears 
Stream when the stricken drum she hears, 
Or see'st how manlier grief suppressed 
Is laboring in a father's breast, — 
With no inquiry vain pursue 
The cause, but think on Waterloo ! 



Period of honor as of woes. 
What bright careers 't was thine to close ! - 
Marked on thy roll of blood w-hat names 
To Briton's memory and to Fame's 
Laid there their last immortal claims ! 
Thou saw'st in seas of gore expire 
Redoubted Picton's soul of fire — 
Saw'st in the mingled carnage lie 
All that of PoNsoNi'.v could die — 
De Lancey change. Love's bridal-wreath 
For laurels from the hand of Death — 
Saw'st gallant Miller's failing eye 
Still bent where Albion's banners fly. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



429 





And Cameron in the shock of steel 
Die like the offspring of Lochiel; 
And generous Gordon mid the strife 
Fall while he watched his leader's life. — 
Ah ! though her guardian angel's shield 
Fenced Britain's hero through the tield, 
Fate not the less her power made known 
Through his friends' hearts to pierce his 
own! 

XXII. 

Forgive, brave dead, the imperfect lay ! 
Who may your names, your numbers, say ? 
What high-strung harp, what lofty line, 
To each the dear-earned praise assign. 
From high-born chiefs of martial fame 
To the poor soldier's lowlier name ? 
Lightly ye rose that dawning day 



From your cold couch of swamp and clay, 
To till before the sun was low 
The bed that morning cannot know. — 
Oft may the tear the green sod steep. 
And sacred be the heroes' sleep 

Till time shall cease to run ; 
And ne'er beside their noble grave 
May Briton pass and fail to crave 
A blessing on the fallen brave 

Who fought with Wellington ! 

XXIII. 

Farewell, sad field ! whose blighted face 
Wears desolation's withering trace; 
Long shall my memory retain 
Thy shattered huts and trampled grain, 
With every mark of martial wrong 



430 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont ! 
Yet though thy garden's green arcade 
The marksman's fatal post was made, 
Though on thy shattered beeches fell 
The blended rage of shot and shell, 
Though from thy blackened portals torn 
Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees mourn, 
Has not such havoc bought a name 



Immortal in the rolls of fame? 
Yes — Agincourt may be forgot, 
And Cressy be an unknown spot, 

And Blenheim's name be new ; 
But still in story and in song. 
For many an age remembered long, 
Shall live the towers of Hougomont 

And Field of Waterloo. 



SC^e JiclU of Matcrloo. 

CONCLUSION. 

Stern tide of human time ! that know'st not rest, 
But, sweeping from the cradle to the tomb, 
Bear'st ever downward on thy dusky breast 
Successive generations to their doom ; 
While thy capacious stream has equal room 
For the gay bark where Pleasure's streamers sport 
And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom, 
The fisher-skiff and barge that bears a court, 
Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port ; — 



Stern tide of time ! through what mysterious change 
Of hope and fear have our frail barks been driven ! 
For ne'er before vicissitude so strange 
Was to one race of Adam's offspring given. 
And sure such varied change of sea and heaven, 
Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe. 
Such fearful strife as that where we have striven, 
Succeeding ages ne'er again shall know 
Until the awful term when thou shalt cease to flow. 



Well hast thou stood, my Country ! — the brave fight 
Hast well maintained through good report and ill : 
In thy just cause and in thy native might, 
And in Heaven's grace and justice constant still ; 
Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill 
Of half the world against thee stood arrayed, 
Or when with better views and freer will 
Beside thee Europe's noblest drew the blade. 
Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid. 



Well art thou now repaid — though slowly rose. 
And struggled long with mists thy blaze of fame, 
While like the dawn that in the orient glows 
On the broad wave its earlier lustre came ; 
Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame. 
And Maida's myrtles gleamed beneath its ray. 
Where first the soldier, stung with generous shame, 
Rivalled the heroes of the watery way. 
And washed in foemen's gore unjust reproach away. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



431 




Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high, 
And bid the banner of thy Patron flow, 
Gallant Saint George, the flower of chivalry. 
For thou hast faced like him a dragon foe, 
And rescued innocence from overthrow, _ 
And trampled down like him tyrannic might, 
And to the gazing world mayst proudly show 
The chosen emblem of thy sainted knight. 
Who quelled devouring pride and vindicated right. 



Yet mid the confidence of just renown, 
Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired, 
Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down : 
'T is not alone the heart with valor fired, 
The discipline so dreaded and admired. 
In many a field of bloody conquest known ; — 
Such may by fame be lured, by gold be hired — 
'T is constancy in the good cause alone 
Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons have won. 





Z-r-^-Jt^^- 



ikxm^WM> 




Gi^e DHai^^iies^ 



f^arolD tf)e ©auntless: 



A POEM IN SIX CANTOS. 



f^arolli tl^e ©auntless. 



INTRODUCTION. 

There is a mood of mind we all have known 
On drowsy eve or dark and lowering da)s 
When the tired spirits lose their sprightly tone 
And naught can chase the lingering hours away. 
Dull on our soul falls Fancy's dazzling ray, 
And Wisdom holds his steadier torch in vain, 
Obscured the painting seems, mistuned the lay, 
Nor dare we of our listless load complain. 
For who for sympathy may seek that cannot tell of pain ? 

The jolly sportsman knows such drearihood 
When bursts in deluge the autumnal rain, 
Clouding that morn which threats the heath-cock's brood 
Of such in summer's drought the anglers plain, 
Who hope the soft mild southern shower in vain ; 
But more than all the discontented fair, 
Whom father stern and sterner aunt restrain 
From county-ball or race occurring rare, 
While all her friends around their vestments gay prepare. 

Ennui ! — or, as our mothers called thee. Spleen ! 
To thee we owe full many a rare device ; — 
Thine is the sheaf of painted cards, I ween. 
The rolling billiard-ball, the rattling dice. 
The turning-lathe for framing gimcrack nice ; 
The amateur's blotched pallet thou mayst claim. 
Retort, and air-pump, threatening frogs and mice — 
Murders disguised by philosophic name — 
And much of trifling grave and much of buxom game. 

Then of the books to catch thy drowsy glance 
Compiled, what bard the catalogue may quote ! 
Plays, poems, novels, never read but once ; — 
But not of such the tale fair Edge worth wrote. 
That bears thy name and is thine antidote ; 
And not of such the strain my Thomson sung, ' 
Delicious dreams inspiring by his note, 
What time to Indolence his harp he strung; — 
O, might my lay be ranked that happier list among ! 



436 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Each hath his refuge whom thy cares assail. 
For me, I love my study-lire to trim, 
And con right vacantly some idle tale. 
Displaying on the couch each listless limb. 
Till on the drowsy page the lights grow dim 
And doubtful slumber half supplies the theme : 
While antique shapes of knight and giant grim. 
Damsel and dwarf, in long procession gleam, 
And the romancer's tale becomes the reader's dream. 

'T is thus my malady I well may bear. 
Albeit outstretched, like Pope's own Paridel, 
Upon the rack of a too-easy chair; 
And find to cheat the time a powerful spell 
In old romaunts of errantry that tell. 
Or later legends of the Fairy-folk, 
Or Oriental tale of Afrite fell. 
Of Genii, Talisman, and broad-winged Roc, 
Though taste may blush and frown, and sober reason mock. 

Oft at such season too will rhymes unsought 
Arrange themselves in some romantic lay. 
The which, as things unfitting graver thought. 
Are burnt or blotted on some wiser day. — 
These few survive — and, proudly let me say, 
Court not the critic's smile nor di'ead his frown; 
They well may serve to while an hour away, 
Nor does the volume ask for more renown 
Than Ennui's yawning smile, what time she drops it down. 



^^arolli tfjc IBauntkss. 

CANTO FIRST. 

I. 
List to the valorous deeds that were done 
By Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's 
son ! 

Count Witikind came of a regal strain, 
And roved with his Norsemen the land and 

the main. 
Woe to the realms which he coasted ! for 

there 
Was shedding of blood and rending of hair, 
Rape of maiden and slaughter of priest, 
Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feast : 
When he hoisted his standard black, 
Before him was battle, behind him wrack, 
And he burned the churches, that heathen 

Dane, 
To light his band to their barks again. 



On Erin's shores was his outrage known. 
The winds of France had his banners blown ; 



Little was there to plunder, yet still 
His pirates had forayed on Scottish hill : 
But upon merry England's coast 
More frequent he sailed, for he won the 

most. 
So wide and so far his ravage they knew. 
If a sail but gleamed white 'gainst the wel- 
kin blue. 
Trumpet and bugle to arms did call, 
Burghers hastened to man the wall. 
Peasants fled inland his fury to 'scape, 
Beacons were lighted on headland and cape, 
Bells were tolled out, and aye as they rung 
Fearful and faintly the gray brothers sung, 
' Bless us, Saint Mary, from flood and from 

fire. 
From famine and pest, and Count Witi- 
kind's ire ! ' 

III. 

He liked the wealth of fair England so well 
That he sought in her bosom as native to 

dwell. 
He entered the Humber in fearful hour 
And disembarked with his Danish power. 
Three earls came against him with all their 

train, — 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



437 




Two hath he taken and one hath he slain. 

Count Witikind left the Humber's rich 
strand, 

And he wasted and warred in Northumber- 
land. 

But the Saxon king was a sire in age, 

Weak in battle, in council sage ; 

Peace of that heathen leader he sought, 

Gifts he gave and quiet he bought; 

And the count took upon him the peace- 
able style 

Of a vassal and liegeman of Briton's broad 
isle. 



Time will rust the sharpest sword. 

Time will consume the strongest cord ; 

That which moulders hemp and steel 

Mortal arm and nerve must feel. 

Of the Danish band whom Count Witikind 
led 

Many waxed aged and many were dead : 

Himself found his armor full weighty to 
bear, 

Wrinkled his brows grew and hoary his 
hair ; 

He leaned on a staff whe-n his step went 
abroad, 

And patient his palfrey when steed he be- 
strode. 

As he grew feebler, his wildness ceased. 



He made himself peace with prelate and 

priest. 
Made his peace, and stooping his head 
Patiently listed the counsel they said : 
Saint Cuthbert's Bishop was holy and grave, 
Wise and good was the counsel he gave. 



' Thou hast murdered, robbed, and spoiled, 
Time it is thy poor soul were assoiled; 
Priests didst thou slay and churches burn. 
Time it is now to repentance to turn ; 
Fiends hast thou worshipped with fiendish 

rite, 
Leave now the darkness and wend into 

light : 
O, while life and space are given. 
Turn thee yet, and think of Heaven ! ' 
That stern old heathen his head he raised, 
And on the good prelate he steadfastly 

gazed ; 
' Give me broad lands on the Wear and the 

Tyne, 
My faith I will leave and I '11 cleave unto 

thine.' 

VI. 

Broad lands he gave him on Tyne and 

Wear, 
To be held of the church by bridle and 

spear. 



438 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Part of Monkwearmouth, of Tynedale part, 
To better his will and to soften his heart : 
Count Witikind was a joyful man, 
Less for the faith than the lands that he 

wan. 
The high church of Durham is dressed for 

the day, 
The clergy are ranked in their solemn ar- 
ray : 
There came the count, in a bear-skin warm. 
Leaning on Hilda his concubine's arm. 
He kneeled before Saint Cuthbert's shrine 
With patience unwonted at rites divine ; 
He abjured the gods of heathen race 
And he bent his head at the font of grace. 
But such was the grisly old proselyte's look. 
That the priest who baptized him grew pale 

and shook ; 
And the old monks muttered beneath their 

hood, 
' Of a stem so stubborn can never spring 
eood ! ' 



Up then arose that grim convertite, 
Homeward he hied him when ended the 

rite ; 
The prelate in honor will with him ride 
And feast in his castle on Tyne's fair side. 
Banners and banderols danced in the wind, 
Monks rode before them and spearmen 

behind ; 
Onward they passed, till fairly did shine 
Pennon and cross on the bosom of Tyne ; 
And full in front did that fortress lour 
In darksome strength with its buttress and 

tower : 
At the castle gate was young Harold there, 
Count Witikind's only offspring and heir. 

VIII. 

Young Harold was feared for his hardihood. 

His strength of frame and his fury of mood. 

Rude he was and wild to behold. 

Wore neither collar nor bracelet of gold, 

Cap of vair nor rich array. 

Such as should grace that festal day : 

His doublet of bull's hide was all unbraced. 

Uncovered his head and his sandal unlaced : 

His shaggy black locks on his brow hung 

low, 
And his eyes glanced through them a 

swarthy glow ; 
A Danish club in his hand he bore, 
The spikes were clotted with recent gore; 
At his back a she-wolf and her wolf-cubs 

twain. 
In the dangerous chase that morning slain. 
Rude was the greeting his father he made, 
None to the bishop, — while thus he said : — 



'What priest-led hypocrite art thou 

With thy humbled look and thy monkish 

brow. 
Like a shaveling who studies to cheat his 

vow ? 
Canst thou be Witikind the Waster known. 
Royal Eric's fearless son, 
Haughty Gunhilda's haughtier lord, 
Who won his bride by the axe and sword ; 
From the shrine of Saint Peter the chalice 

who tore. 
And malted to bracelets for Freya and Thor ; 
With one blow of his gauntlet who burst 

the skull. 
Before Odin's stone, of the Mountain Bull ? 
Then ye worshipped with rites that to war- 
gods belong. 
With the deed of the brave and the blow 

of the strong; 
And now, in thine age to dotage sunk. 
Wilt thou patter thy crimes to a shaven 

monk. 
Lay down thy mail-shirt for clothing of 

hair, — 
Fasting and scourge, like a slave, wilt thou 

bear? 
Or, at best, be admitted in slothful bower 
To batten with priest and with paramour ? 
O, out upon thine endless shame ! 
Each Scald's high harp shall blast thy fame, 
And thy son will refuse thee a father's 

name ! ' 



Ireful waxed old Witikind's look, 
His faltering voice with fury shook : — 
• Hear me, Harold of hardened heart I 
.Stubborn and wilful ever thou wert. 
Thine outrage insane I command thee to 

cease, 
Fear my wrath and remain at peace : — 
Just is the debt of repentance I 've paid, 
Richly the church has a recompense made. 
And the truth of her doctrines I prove with 

my blade. 
But reckoning to none of my actions I owe. 
And least to my son such accounting will 

show. 
Why speak I to thee of repentance or truth. 
Who ne'er from thy childhood knew reason 

or ruth ? 
Hence ! to the wolf and the bear in her den : 
These are thy mates, and not rational men." 



XI. 

Grimly smiled Harold and coldly replied, 
' We must honor our sires, if we fear when 
they chide. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



439 



For me, I am yet what thy lessons have 
made, 

1 was rocked in a buckler and fed from a 
blade : 

An infant, was taught to clasp hands and 
to shout 

From the roofs of the tower when the flame 
had broke out ; 

In the blood of slain foemen my finger to dip, 

And tinge with its purple my cheek and my 
lip.- 

'Tis thou know'st not truth, that hast bar- 
tered in eld 

For a price the brave faith that thine an- 
cestors held. 

When this wolf ' — and the carcass he flung 
on the plain — 

' Shall awake and give food to her nurslings 
again, 

The face of his father will Harold review ; 

Till then, aged heathen, young Christian, 
adieu ! ' 



Priest, monk, and prelate stood aghast, 
As through the pageant the heathen passed. 
A cross-bearer out of his saddle he flung. 
Laid his hand on the pommel and into it 

sprung. 
Loud was the shriek and deep the groan 
When the holy sign on the earth was 

thrown ! 
The fierce old count unsheathed his brand. 
But the calmer prelate stayed his hand. 
•Let him pass free! — Heaven knows its 

hour, — 
But he must own repentance's power, 
Pray and weep, and penance bear. 
Ere he hold land by the Tyne and the 

Wear.' 
Thus in scorn and in wrath from his father 

is gone 
Young Harold the Dauntless, Count Witi- 

kind's son. 



High was the feasting in Witikind's hall. 
Revelled priests, soldiers, and pagans, and 

all; 
And e'en the good bishop was fain to endure 
The scandal which time and instruction 

might cure : * 

It were dangerous, he deemed, at the first 

to restrain 
In his wine and his wassail a half-christened 

Dane. 
The mead flowed around and the ale was 

drained dry. 
Wild was the laughter, the song, and the 

cry; 



With Kyrie Eleison came clamorously in 
The war-songs of Danesmen, Norweyan, 

and Finn, 
Till man after man the contention gave o'er. 
Outstretched on the rushes that strewed 

the hall floor; 
And the tempest within, having ceased its 

wild rout. 
Gave place to the tempest that thundered 

without. 



Apart from the wassail in turret alone 
Lay flaxen-haired Gunnar, old Ermengarde's 

son ; 
In the train of Lord Harold that page was 

the first, 
For Harold in childhood had Ermengarde 

nursed ; 
And grieved was young Gunnar his master 

should roam. 
Unhoused and unfriended, an exile from 

home. 
He heard the deep thunder, the plashing of 

rain. 
He saw the red lightning through shot-hole 

and pane ; 
' And O ! ' said the page, ' on the shelterless 

wold 
Lord Harold is wandering in darkness and 

cold ! 
What though he was stubborn and wayward 

and wild, 
He endured me because I was Ermen- 
garde's child, 
And often from dawn till the set of the sun 
In the chase by his stirrup unbidden I run ; 
I would I were older, and knighthood could 

bear, 
I would soon quit the banks of the Tyne 

and the Wear : 
For my mother's command with her last 

parting breath 
Bade me follow her nursling in life and to 

death. 

XV. 

' It pours and it thunders, it lightens amain. 

As if Lok the Destroyer had burst from 
his chain ! 

Accursed by the church and expelled by 
his sire. 

Nor Christian nor Dane give him shelter 
or fire. 

And this tempest what mortal may house- 
less endure ? 

Unaided, unmantled, he dies on the moor ! 

Whate'er comes of Gunnar, he tarries not 
here.' 

He leapt from his couch and he grasped to 
his spear, 



440 



SCOTT'S POETICAL IP'ORKS. 



Sought the hall of the feast. Undisturbed 

by his tread, 
The wassailers slept fast as the sleep of 

the dead : 
' Ungrateful and bestial ! ' his anger broke 

forth, 
• To forget mid your goblets the pride of 

the North ! 
And you, ye cowled priests who have plenty 

in store. 
Must give Gunnarfor ransom a palfrey and 

ore.' 

XVI. 

Then, heeding full little of ban or of curse. 
He has seized on the Prior of Jorvaux's 

purse : 
Saint Meneholt's Abbot next morning has 

missed 
His mantle, deep furred from the cape to 

the wrist : 
The seneschal's keys from his belt he has 

ta'en — 
Well drenched on that eve was old Hilde- 

brand's brain — 
To the stable-yard he made his way 
And mounted the bishop's palfrey gay, 
Castle and hamlet behind him has cast 
And right on his way to the moorland has 

passed. 
Sore snorted the palfrey, unused to face 
A weather so wild at so rash a pace ; 
So long he snorted, so long he neighed, 
There answered a steed that was bound 

beside. 
And the red flash of lightning showed there 

where lay 
His master. Lord Harold, outstretched on 

the clay. 



Up he started and thundered out, ' Stand ! " 
And raised the club in his deadly hand. 
The flaxen-haired Gunnar his purpose told. 
Showed the palfrey and proffered the gold. 
' Back, back, and home, thou simple boy ! 
Thou canst not share my grief or joy : 
Have I not marked thee wail and cry 
When thou hast seen a sparrow die ? 
And canst thou, as my follower should. 
Wade ankle-deejD through foeman's blood, 
Dare mortal and immortal foe. 
The gods above, the fiends below. 
And man on earth, more hateful still, 
The very fountain-head of ill? 
Desperate of life and careless of death, 
Lover of bloodshed and slaughter and 

scathe. 
Such must thou be with me to roam, 
And such thou canst not be — back, and 

home ! ' 



Young Gunnar shook like an aspen bough. 
As he heard the harsh voice and beheld 

the dark brow. 
And half he repented his purpose and vow. 
But now to draw back were bootless shame, 
And he loved his master, so urged his 

claim : 
' Alas ! if my arm and my courage be weak. 
Bear with me awhile for old Ermengarde's 

sake ; 
Nor deem so lightly of Gunnar's faith 
As to fear he would break it for peril of 

death. 
Have I not risked it to fetch thee this gold, 
This surcoat and mantle to fence thee from 

cold ? 
And, did I bear a baser mind, 
What lot remains if I stay behind? 
The priests' revenge, thy father's wrath, 
A dungeon, and a shameful death.' 



With gentler look Lord Harold eyed 
The page, then turned his head aside ; 
And either a tear did his eyelash stain. 
Or it caught a drop of the passing rain. 
'Art thou an outcast, then ? ' quoth he ; 
' The meeter page to follow me.' 
'Twere bootless to tell what climes they 

sought. 
Ventures achieved, and battles fought ; 
How oft with few, how oft alone. 
Fierce Harold's arm the field hath won. 
Men swore his eye, that flashed so red 
When each other glance was quenched 

with dread. 
Bore oft a light of deadly flame 
That ne'er from mortal courage came. 
Those limbs so strong, that mood so stern, 
That loved the couch of heath and fern. 
Afar from hamlet, tower, and town. 
More than to rest on driven down; 
That stubborn frame, that sullen mood, 
Men deemed must come of aught but good ; 
And they whispered the great Alaster Fiend 

was at one 
With Harold the Dauntless, Count Witi- 

kind's son. 



Years after years had gone and fled. 

The good old prelate lies lapped in lead; 

In the chapel still is shown 

His sculptured form on a marble stone, 

Witii staff and ring and scapulaire, 

And folded hands in the act of prayer. 

Saint Cuthbert's mitre is resting now 

On the haughty Saxon, bold Aldingar's brow; 

The power of his crosier he loved to extend 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



441 



O'er whatever would break or whatever 

would bend ; 
And now hath he clothed him in cope and 

in pall, 
And the Chapter of Durham has met at his 

call. 
' And hear ye not, brethren,' the proud 

bishop said, 
• That our vassal, the Danish Count Witi- 

kind 's dead ? 
All his gold and his goods hath he given 
To holy Church for the love of Heaven, 
And hath founded a chantry with stipend 

and dole 
That priests and that beadsmen may pray 

for his soul : 
Harold his son is wandering abroad, 
Dreaded by man and abhorred by God; 
Meet it is not that such should heir 
The lands of the Church on the Tyne and 

the Wear, 
And at her pleasure her hallowed hands 
May now resume these wealthy lands.' 



XXI. 

Answered good Eustace, a canon old, — 
' Harold is tameless and furious and bold ; 
Ever Renown blows a note of fame 
And a note of fear when she sounds his 

name : 
Much of bloodshed and much of scathe 
Have been their lot who have waked his 

wrath. 
Leave him these lands and lordships still. 
Heaven in its hour may change his will; 
But if reft of gold and of living bare, 
An evil counsellor is despair.' 
More had he said, but the prelate frowned. 
And murmured his brethren who sate 

around. 
And with one consent have they given their 

doom 
That the Church should the lands of Saint 

Cuthbert resume. 
So willed the prelate ; and canon and dean 
Gave to his judgment their loud amen. 




f^arolli tlje ©auntltss. 



CANTO SECOND. 



'T IS merry in greenwood — thus runs the- 

old lay — 
In the gladsome month of lively May, 
When the wild birds' song on stem and sprav 

Invites to forest bower ; 
Then rears the ash his airy crest, 
Then shines the birch in silver vest, 
And the beech in glistening leaves is drest, 



And dark between shows the oak's proud 
breast 
Like a chieftain's frowning tower ; 
Though a thousand branches join their 

screen, 
Yet the broken sunbeams glance between 
And tip the leaves with lighter green, 

With brighter tints the flower: 
Dull is the heart that loves not then 



442 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The deep recess of the wildwood glen, 
Where roe and red-deer find sheltering den 
When the sun is in his power. 

II. 
Less merry perchance is the fading leaf 
That follows so soon on the gathered sheaf 

When the greenwood loses the np.me ; 
Silent is then the forest bound, 
Save the redbreast's note and the rustling 

sound 
Of frost-nipt leaves that are dropping round, 
Or the deep-mouthed cry of the distant hound 

That opens on his game : 
Yet then too I love the forest wide. 
Whether the sun in splendor ride 
And gild its many-colored side, 
Or whether the soft and silvery haze 
In vapory folds o'er the landscape strays, 
And half involves the woodland maze. 

Like an early widow's veil, 
Where wimpling tissue from the gaze 
The form half hides and half betrays 

Of beauty wan and pale. 

III. 
Fair Metelill was a woodland maid, 
Her father a rover of greenwood shade. 
By forest statutes undismayed, 

Who lived by bow and quiver; 
Well known was Wulfstane's archery 
By merry Tyne both on moor and lea. 
Through wooded Weardale's glens so free, 
Well beside Stanhope's wildwood tree. 

And well on Ganlesse river. 
Yet free though he trespassed on woodland 

game, 
More known and more feared was the wiz- 
ard fame 
Of Jutta of Rookhope, the Outlaw's dame ; 
Feared when she frowned was her eye of 
flame. 
More feared when in wrath she laughed ; 
For then, 't was said, more fatal true 
To its dread aim her spell-glance flew 
Than when from Wulfstane's bended yew 
Sprung forth the gray-goose shaft. 



Yet had this fierce and dreaded pair, 
So Heaven decreed, a daughter fair ; 

None brighter crowned the bed. 
In Britain's bounds, of peer or prince, 
Nor hath perchance a lovelier since 

In this fair isle been bred. 
And naught of fraud or ire or ill 
Was known to gentle Metelill, — 

A simple maiden she; 
The spells in dimpled, smile that lie, 
And a downcast blush, and the darts that fly 
With the sidelong glance of a hazel eye. 



Were her arms and witchery. 
So young, so simple was she yet, 
She scarce could childhood's joys forget, 
And still she loved, in secret set 

Beneath the greenwood tree. 
To plait the rushy coronet 
And braid with flowers her locks of jet. 

As when in infancy; — 
Yet could that heart so simple prove 
The early dawn of stealing love : 

Ah ! gentle maid, beware ! 
The power who, now so mild a guest, 
Gives dangerous yet delicious zest 
To the calm pleasures of thy breast, 
Will soon, a tyrant o'er the rest. 

Let none his empire share. 



One morn in kirtle green arrayed 
Deep in the wood the maiden strayed, 

And where a fountain sprung 
She sate her down unseen to thread 
The scarlet berry's mimic braid, 

And while the beads she strung, 
Like the blithe lark whose carol gay 
Gives a good-morrow to the day, 

So lightsomely she sung. 

VI. 

Song. 

' Lord William was born in gilded bower, 
The heir of Wilton's lofty tower; 
Yet better loves Lord William now 
To roam beneath wild Rookhope's brow ; 
And William has lived where ladies fair 
With gawds and jewels deck their hair, 
Yet better loves the dewdrops still 
That pearl the locks of Metelill. 

' The pious palmer loves, I wis. 
Saint Cuthbert's hallowed beads to kiss; 
But I, though simple girl I be. 
Might have such homage paid to me ; 
For did Lord William see me suit 
This necklace of the bramble's fruit, 
He fain — but must not have his will — 
Would kiss the beads of Metelill. 

' My nurse has told me many a tale. 
How vows of love are weak and frail ; 
My mother says that courtly youth 
By rustic maid means seldom sooth. 
What should they mean ? it cannot be 
That such a warning 's meant for me, 
For naught — O, naught of fraud or ill 
Can William mean to Metelill ! ' 



Sudden she stops — and starts to feel 
A weighty hand, a glove of steel, 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



443 



Upon her shrinking shoulders laid ; 
Fearful she turned, and saw dismayed 
A knight in plate and mail arrayed, 
His crest and bearing worn and frayed, 

His surcoat soiled and riven, 
Formed like that giant race of yore 
Whose long-continued crimes outwore 

The sufferance of Heaven. 
Stern accents made his pleasure known, 
Though then he used his gentlest tone : 
' Maiden,' he said, ' sing forth thy glee. 
Start not — sing on — it pleases me.' 



Secured within his powerful hold, 
To bend her knee, her hands to fold, 

Was all the maiden might : 
And ' O, forgive,' she faintly said, 
' The terrors of a simple maid, 

If thou art mortal wight ! 
But if — of such strange tales are told — 
Unearthly warrior of the wold. 
Thou comest to chide mine accents bold. 
My mother, Jutta, knows the spell 
At noon and midnight pleasing well 

The disembodied ear; 
O, let her powerful charms atone 
For aught my rashness may have done. 

And ceass thy grasp of fear.' 
Then laughed the knight — his laughter's 

sound 
Half in the hollow helmet drowned ; 
His barred visor then he raised, 
And steady on the maiden gazed. 
He smoothed his brows, as best he might. 
To the dread calm of autumn night. 

When sinks the tempest roar. 
Yet still the cautious fishers eye 
The clouds and fear the gloomy sky. 

And haul their barks on shore. 



' Damsel,' he said, ' be wise, and learn 
Matters of weight and deep concern : 

From distant realms I come, 
And wanderer long at length have planned 
In this my native Northern land 

To seek myself a home. 
Nor that alone — a mate I seek ; 
She must be gentle, soft, and meek, — 

No lordly dame for me ; 
Myself am something rough of mood 
And feel the fire of royal blood, 
And therefore do not hold it good 

To match in my degree. 
Then, since coy maidens say my face 
Is harsh, my form devoid of grace, 
For a fair lineage to provide 
'T is meet that my selected bride 



In lineaments be fair; 
I love thine well — till now I ne'er 
Looked patient on a face of fear. 
But now that tremulous sob and tear 

Become thy beauty rare. 
One kiss — nay, damsel, coy it not ! — 
And now go seek thy parents' cot, 
And say a bridegroom soon I come 
To woo my love and bear her home.' 



Home sprung the maid without a pause. 

As leveret 'scaped from greyhound's jaws ; 

But still she locked, howe'er distressed. 

The secret in her boding breast ; 

Dreading her sire, who oft forbade 

Her steps should stray to distant glade. 

Night came — to her accustomed nook 

Her distaff aged Jutta took. 

And by the lamp's imperfect glow 

Rough Wulfstane trimmed his shafts and 

bow. 
Sudden and clamorous from the ground 
Upstarted slumbering brach and hound ; 
Loud knocking next the lodge alarms 
And Wulfstane snatches at his arms. 
When open flew the yielding door 
And that grim warrior pressed the floor. 

XI. 

■ All peace be here — What ! none replies ? 
Dismiss your fears and your surprise. 
'T is I — that maid hath told my tale, — 
Or, trembler, did thy courage fail ? 
It recks not — it is I demand 
Fair Metelill in marriage band ; 
Harold the Dauntless I, whose name 
Is brave men's boast and caitiff's shame.' 
The parents sought each other's eyes 
With awe, resentment, and surprise : 
Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, began 
The stranger's size and thews to scan ; 
But as he scanned his courage sunk, 
And from unequal strife he shrunk. 
Then forth to blight and blemish flies 
The harmful curse from Jutta's eyes ; 
Yet, fatal howsoe'er, the spell 
On Harold innocently fell ! 
And disappointment and amaze 
Were in the witch's wildered gaze. 



But soon the wit of woman woke, 
And to the warrior mild she spoke : 
' Her child was all too young.' — ' A toy. 
The refuge of a maiden coy.' 
Again, ' A powerful baron's heir 
Claims in her heart an interest fair.' 



444 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' A trifle — whisper in his ear 
That Harold is a suitor here ! ' — 
Batifled at length she sought delay : 
'Would not the knight till morning stay? 
Late was the hour — he there might rest 
Till morn, their lodge's honored guest.' 
Such were her words — her craft might 

cast 
Her honored guest should sleep his last : 
'No, not to-night — but soon,' he swore, 
' He would return, nor leave them more.' 
The threshold then his huge stride crost. 
And soon he was in darkness lost. 



Appalled awhile the parents stood. 
Then changed their fear to angry mood, 
And foremost fell their words of ill 
On unresisting Metelill : 
Was she not cautioned and forbid, 
Forewarned, implored, accused, and chid, 
And must she still to greenwood roam 
To marshal such misfortvme home ? 
' Hence, minion — to thy chamber hence - 
There prudence learn and penitence.' 
She went — her lonely couch to steep 
In tears which absent lovers weep; 
Or if she gained a troubled sleep, 
Fierce Harold's suit was still the theme 
And terror of her feverish dream. 



Scarce was she gone, her dame and sire 

Upon each other bent their ire ; 

' A woodsman thou and hast a spear. 

And couldst thou such an insult bear ? ' 

Sullen he said, ' A man contends 

With men, a witch with sprites and fiends; 

Not to mere mortal wight belong 

Yon gloomy brow and frame so strong. 

But thou — is this thy promise fair, 

That your Lord William, wealthy heir 

To LHrick, Baron of Witton-le-Wear, 

Should Metelill to altar bear? 

Do all the spells thou boast'st as thine 

Serve but to slay some peasant's kine, 

His grain in autumn's storms to steep, 

Or thorough fog and fen to sweep 

And hag-ride some poor rustic's sleep ? 

Is such mean mischief worth the fame 

Of sorceress and witch's name? 

Fame, which with all men's wish conspires, 

With thy deserts and my desires. 

To damn thy corpse to penal fires ? 

Out on thee, witch ! aroint! aroint! 

What now shall put thy schemes in joint? 

What save this trusty arrow's point, 

From the dark dingle when it flies 

And he who meets it gasps and dies ? ' 



Stern she replied, ' I will not wage 

War with thy folly or thy rage ; 

But ere the morrow's sun be low, 

Wulfstane of Rookhope, thou shalt know 

If I can venge me on a foe. 

Believe the while that whatsoe'er 

I spoke in ire of bow and spear. 

It is not Harold's destiny 

The death of pilfered deer to die. 

But he, and thou, and yon pale moon — 

That shall be yet more pallid soon. 

Before she sink behind the dell — 

Thou, she, and Harold too, shall tell 

What Jutta knows of charm or spell.' 

Thus muttering, to the door she bent 

Her wayward steps and forth she went, 

And left alone the moody sire 

To cherish or to slake his ire. 



Far faster than belonged to age 
Has Jutta made her pilgrimage. 
A priest has met her as she passed, 
And crossed himself and stood aghast : 
She traced a hamlet — not a cur 
His throat would ope, his foot would stir; 
By crouch, by trembling, and by groan. 
They made her hated presence known ! 
But when she trode the sable fell, 
Were wilder sounds her way to tell, — 
P^or far was heard the fox's yell, 
The black-cock waked and faintly crew. 
Screamed o'er the moss the scared curlew : 
Where o'er the cataract the oak 
Lay slant, was heard the raven's croak ; 
The mountain-cat which sought his prey 
Glared, screamed, and started from her way. 
Such music cheered her journey lone 
To the deep dell and rocking stone: 
There with unhallowed hymn of praise 
She called a god of heathen days. 



Snbocattoii. 

' From thy Pomeranian throne, 
Hewn in rock of living stone. 
Where, to thy godhead faithful yet, 
Bend Esthonian, Finn, and Lett, 
And their swords in vengeance whet, 
That shall make thine altars wet, 
Wet and red for ages more 
With the Christian's hated gore, — 
Hear me, Sovereign of the Rock ! 
Hear me, mighty Zernebock ! 

'Mightiest of the mighty known, 
Here thy wonders have been shown ; 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



445 



Hundred tribes in various tongue 
Oft have here thy praises sung; 
Down that stone with Runic seamed 
Hundred victims' blood hath streamed! 
Now one woman comes alone 
And but wets it with her own, 
The last, the feeblest of thy flock, — 
Hear — and be present, Zernebock ! 

' Hark ! he comes ! the night-blast cold 
Wilder sweeps along the wold ; 
The cloudless moon grows dark and dim, 
And bristling hair and quaking limb 
Proclaim the Master Demon nigh, — 
Those who view his form shall die ! 
Lo ! I stoop and veil my head ; 
Thou who ridest the tempest dread, 
Shaking hill and rending oak — 
Spare me ! spare me, Zernebock ! 

' He comes not yet ! Shall cold delay 
Thy votaress at her need repay ? 
Thou — shall I call thee god or fiend? — 
Let others on thy mood attend 
With prayer and ritual — Jutta's arms 
Are necromantic words and charms ; 
Mine is the spell that uttered once 
Shall wake thy Master from his trance. 
Shake his red mansion-house of pain 
And burst his seven-times-twisted chain ! - 
So ! com'st thou ere the spell is spoke ? 
I own thy presence, Zernebock.' — 



' Daughter of dust,' the Deep Voice said 
Shook while it spoke the vale for dread. 
Rocked on the base that massive stone. 
The Evil Deity to own, — 
' Daughter of dust ! not mine the power 
Thou seek'st on Harold's fatal hour. 



'Twixt heaven and hell there is a strife 

Waged for his soul and for his life, 

And fain would we the combat win 

And snatch him in his hour of sin. 

There is a star now rising red 

That threats him with an influence dread: 

Woman, thine arts of malice whet, 

To use the space before it set. 

Involve him with the church in strife. 

Push on adventurous chance his life ; 

Ourself will in the hour of need. 

As best we may, thy counsels speed.' 

So ceased the Voice ; for seven leagues 

round 
Each hamlet started at the sound. 
But slept again as slowly died 
Its thunders on the hill's brown side. 



'And is this all,' said Jutta stern, 

' That thou canst teach and I can learn ? 

Hence ! to the land of fog and waste, 

There fittest is thine influence placed, 

Thou powerless, sluggish Deity ! 

But ne'er shall Briton bend the knee 

Again before so poor a god.' 

She struck the altar with her rod; 

Slight was the touch as when at need 

A damsel stirs her tardy steed ; 

But to the blow the stone gave place. 

And, starting from its balanced base. 

Rolled thundering clown the moonlight 

dell, — 
Re-echoed moorland, rock, and fell ; 
Into the moonlight tarn it dashed, 
Their shores the sounding surges lashed, 

And there was ripple, rage, and foam; 
But on that lake, so dark and lone. 
Placid and pale the moonbeam shone 

As Jutta hied her home. 



l^arolU tf)e ©auntless. 

CANTO THIRD. 



Gray towers of Durham ! there was once a time 
I viewed your battlements with such vague hope 
As brightens life in its first dawning prime ; 
Not that e'en then came within fancy's scope 
A vision vain of mitre, throne, or cope ; 
Yet, gazing on the venerable hall. 
Her flattering dreams would in perspective ope 
Some reverend room, some prebendary's stall, — 
And thus Hope me deceived as she deceiveth all. 



446 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Well yet I love thy mixed and massive piles, 
Half church of God, half castle 'gainst the Scot, 
And long to roam these venerable aisles, 
With records stored of deeds long since forgot ; 
There might I share my Surtees' happier lot, 
Who leaves at will his patrimonial field 
To ransack every crypt and hallowed spot, 
And from oblivion rend the spoils they yield, 
Restoring priestly chant and clang of knightly shield. 

Vain is the wish — - since other cares demand 
Each vacant hour, and in another clime ; 
But still that northern harp invites my hand 
Which tells the wonder of thine earlier time ; 
And fain its numbers would I now command 
To paint the beauties of that dawning fair 
When Harold, gazing from its lofty stand 
Upon the western heights of Beaurepaire, 
Saw Saxon Eadmer's towers begirt by winding Wear. 



Fair on the half-seen streams the sunbeams danced. 
Betraying it beneath the woodland bank, 
And fair between the Gothic turrets glanced 
Broad lights, and shadows fell on front and flank, 
Where tower and buttress rose in martial rank, 
And girdled in the massive donjon keep, 
And from their circuit pealed o'er bush and bank 
The matin bell with summons long and deep. 
And echo answered still with long-resounding sweep. 



The morning mists rose from the ground, 
Each merry bird awakened round 

As if in revelry ; 
Afar the bugle's clanging sound 
Called to the chase the lagging hound ; 

The gale breathed soft and free, 
And seemed to linger on its way 
To catch fresh odors from the spray. 
And waved it in its wanton play 

So light and gamesomely. 
The scenes which morning beams reveal. 
Its sounds to hear, its gales to feel 
In all their fragrance round him steal, 
It melted Harold's heart of steel. 
And, hardly wotting why, 
He doffed his helmet's gloomy pride 
And hung it on a tree beside. 

Laid mace and falchion by, 
And on the greensward sate him down 
And from his dark habitual frown 

Relaxed his rugged brow — 
Whoever hath the doubtful task 
From that stern Dane a boon to ask 

Were wise to ask it now. 



His place beside young Gunnar took 
And marked his master's softenins: look, 



And in his eye's dark mirror spied 
The gloom of stormy thoughts subside, 
And cautious watched the fittest tide 

To speak a warning word. 
So when the torrent's billows shrink. 
The timid pilgrim on the brink 
Waits long to see them wave and sink 

Ere he dare brave the ford, 
And often after doubtful pause 
His step advances or withdraws; 
Fearful to move the slumbering ire 
Of his stern lord, thus stood the squire 

Till Harold raised his eye. 
That glanced as when athwart the shroud 
Of the dispersing tempest-cloud 

The bursting sunbeams fly. 



• Arouse thee, son of Ermengarde, 
Offspring of prophetess and bard ! 
Take harp and greet this lovely prime 
With some high strain of Runic rhyme, 
Strong, deep, and powerful ! Peal it round 
Like that loud bell's sonorous sound. 
Yet wild by fits, as when the lay 
Of bird and bugle hail the day. 
Such was my grandsire Eric's sport 
When dawn gleamed on his martial court. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



447 




Heymar the Scald with harp's high sound 
Summoned the chiefs who slept around; 
Couched on the spoils of wolf and bear, 
They roused like lions from their lair, 
Then rushed in emulation forth 
To enhance the glories of the north. — 
Proud Eric, mightiest of thy race, 
Where is thy shadowy resting-place ? 
In wild Valhalla hast thou quaffed 
From foeman's skull metheglin draught. 
Or wanderest where thy cairn was piled 
To frown o'er oceans wide and wild ? 
Or have the milder Christians given 
Thy refuge in their peaceful heaven ? 
Where'er thou art, to thee are known 
Our toils endured, our trophies won, 
Our wars, our wanderings, and our woes.' 
He ceased, and Gunnar's song arose. 



VI. 

Song. 

' Hawk and osprey screamed for joy 
O'er the beetling cliffs of Hoy, 
Crimson foam the beach o'erspread. 
The heath was dyed with darker red, 



When o'er Eric, Inguar's son, 
Dane and Northman piled the stone, 
Singing wild the war-song stern, 
" Rest thee. Dweller of the Cairn ! " 

' Where eddying currents foam and boil 
By Bersa's burgh and Grsemsay's isle, 
The seaman sees a martial form 
Half-mingled with the mist and storm. 
In anxious awe he bears away 
To moor his bark in Stromna's bay, 
And murmurs from the bounding stern, 
" Rest thee. Dweller of the Cairn ! " 

' What cares disturb the mighty dead ? 

Each honored rite was duly paid ; 

No daring hand thy helm unlaced. 

Thy sword, thy shield, were near "thee 

placed ; 
Thy flinty couch no tear profaned : 
Without, with hostile blood 'twas stained : 
Within, 't was lined with moss and fern, — 
Then rest thee. Dweller of the Cairn ! 

' He may not rest : from realms afar 
Comes voice of battle and of war. 
Of conquest wrought with bloody hand 
On Carmel's cliffs and Jordan's strand. 



448 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



When Odin's warlike son could daunt 
The turbaned race of Termagaunt.' 



' Peace,' said the knight, ' the noble Scald 
Our warlike fathers' deeds recalled, 
But never strove to soothe the son 
With tales of what himself had done. 
At Odin's board the bard sits high 
Whose harp ne'er stooped to flattery. 
But highest he whose daring lay 
Hath dared unwelcome truths to say.' 
With doubtful smile young Gunnar eyed 
His master's looks and naught replied — 
But well that smile his master led 
To construe what he left unsaid. 
' Is it to me, thou timid youth, 
Thou fear'st to speak unwelcome truth ! 
My soul no more thy censure grieves 
Than frosts rob laurels of their leaves. 
Say on — and yet — beware the rude 
And wild distemper of my blood ; 
Loath were I that mine ire should wrong 
The youth that bore my shield so long. 
And who, in service constant still, 
Though weak in frame, art strong in will.' — 
' O ! ' quoth the page, ' even there depends 
My counsel — there my warning tends — 
Oft seems as of my master's breast 
Some demon were the sudden guest ; 
Then at the first misconstrued word 
His hand is on the mace and sword, 
From her firm seat his wisdom driven, 
His life to countless dangers given. 
O, would that Gunnar could suffice 
To be the fiend's last sacrifice, 
So that, when glutted with my gore, 
He fled and tempted thee no more ! ' 



Then waved his hand and shook his head 
The impatient Dane while thus he said : 
' Profane not, youth — it is not thine 
To judge the spirit of our line — 
The bold Berserkars rage divine. 
Through whose inspiring deeds are wrought 
Past human strength and human thought. 
When full upon his gloomy soul 
The champion feels the influence roll, 
He swims the lake, he leaps the wall — 
Heeds not the depth, nor plumbs the fall — 
Unshielded, mail-less, on he goes 
Singly against a host of foes ; 
Their spears he holds like withered reeds. 
Their mail like maiden's silken weeds ; 
One 'gainst a hundred will he strive, 
Take countless wounds and yet survive. 
Then rush the eagles to his cry 
Of slaughter and of victory, — 
And blood he quaffs like Odin's bowl, 



Deep drinks his sword, — deep drinks his 

soul ; 
And all that meet him in his ire 
He gives to ruin, rout, and fire ; 
Then, like gorged lion, seeks some den 
And couches till he 's man agen. — 
Thou know'st the signs of look and limb 
When 'gins that rage to overbrim — 
Thou know'st when I am moved and why ; 
And when thou see'st me roll mine eye. 
Set my teeth thus, and stamp my foot. 
Regard thy safety and be mute ; 
But else speak boldly out whate'er 
Is fitting that a knight should hear. 
I love thee, youth. Thy lay has power 
Upon my dark and sullen hour ; — 
So Christian monks are wont to say 
Demons of old were charmed away ; 
Then fear not I will rashly deem 
111 of thy speech, whate'er the theme.' 



As down some strait in doubt and dread 
The watchful pilot drops the lead. 
And, cautious in the midst to steer. 
The shoaling channel sounds with fear ; 
So, lest on dangerous ground he swerved. 
The page his master's brow observed. 
Pausing at intervals to fling 
His hand on the melodious string, 
And to his moody breast apply 
The soothing charm of harmony. 
While hinted half, and half exprest. 
This warning song conveyed the rest. — 

Song. 
' 111 fares the bark with tackle riven, 
And ill when on the breakers driven, — 
111 when the storm-sprite shrieks in air. 
And the scared mermaid tears her hair ; 
But worse when on her helm the hand 
Of some false traitor holds command. 

' 111 fares the fainting palmer, placed 
Mid Hebron's rocks or Rana's waste, — 
111 when the scorching sun is high. 
And the expected font is dry, — 
Worse when his guide o'er sand and heath, 
The barbarous Copt, has planned his death. 

' 111 fares the knight with buckler cleft, 
And ill when of his helm bereft, — 
111 when his steed to earth is flung, 
Or from his grasp his falchion wrung; 
But worse, of instant ruin token. 
When he lists rede by woman spoken.' — 



' How now, fond boy? — Canst thou think 

ill,' 
Said Harold, 'of fair Metelill.?' 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



449 



' She may be fair,' the page replied 
As through the strings he ranged, — 

' She may be fair; but yet,' he cried. 
And then the strain he changed, — 



Song. 

• She may be fair,' he sang, ' but yet 

Far fairer have I seen 
Than she, for all her locks of jet 

And eyes so dark and sheen. 
Were I a Danish knight in arms, 

As one day I may be, 
My heart should own no foreign charms 

A Danish maid for me ! 

'■ I love my father's northern land, 

Where the dark pine-trees grow, 
And the bold Baltic's echoing strand 

Looks o'er each grassy oe. 
I love to mark the lingering sun, 

From Denmark loath to go, 
And leaving on the billows bright, 
To cheer the short-lived summer night, 

A path of ruddy glow. 

' But most the northern maid I love, 

With breast like Denmark's snow 
And form as fair as Denmark's pine, 
Who loves with purple heath to twine 

Her locks of sunny glow ; 
And sweetly blend that shade of gold 

With the cheek's rosy hue. 
And Faith might for her mirror hold 

That eye of matchless blue. 

' 'T is hers the manly sports to love 

That southern maidens fear. 
To bend the bow by stream and grove. 

And lift the hunter's spear. 
She can her chosen champion's flight 

With eye undazzled see. 
Clasp him victorious from the strife, 
Or on his corpse yield up her life, — 

A Danish maid for me ! ' 



Then smiled th e Dane — ' Thou canst so well 
The virtues of our maidens tell. 
Half could I wish my choice had been 
Blue eyes, and hair of golden sheen. 
And lofty soul ; — yet what of ill 
Hast thou to charge on Metelill ? ' 
' Nothing on her,' young Gunnar said, 
' But her base sire's ignoble trade. 
Her mother too — the general fame 
Hath given to Jutta evil name. 
And in her gray eye is a flame 
Art cannot hide nor fear can tame. — 
That sordid woodman's peasant cot 
Twice have thine honored footsteps sought, 
And twice returned with such ill rede 
As sent thee on some desperate deed.' 

XII. 

' Thou errest ; Jutta wisely said. 
He that comes suitor to a maid, 
Ere linked in marriage, should provide 
Lands and a dwelling for his bride — 
My father's by the Tyne and Wear 
I have reclaimed.' — ' O, all too dear 
And all too dangerous the prize. 
E'en were it won,' young Gunnar cries ; — 
' And then this Jutta's fresh device, 
That thou shouldst seek, a heathen Dane. 
From Durham's priests a boon to gain 
When thou hast left their vassals slain 
In theirown halls ! ' — Flashed Harold's eye. 
Thundered his voice — ' False page, you lie I 
The castle, hall and tower, is mine, 
Built by old Witikind on Tyne. 
The wild-cat will defend his den, 
Fights for her nest the timid wren ; 
And think'st thou I 'II forego my right 
For dread of monk or monkish knight ? — 
Up and away, that deepening bell 
Doth of the bishop's conclave tell. 
Thither will I in manner due, 
As Jutta bade, my claim to sue ; 
And if to right me they are loath, 
Then woe to church and chapter both ! ' 
Now shift the scene and let the curtain fall, 
And our next entry be Saint Cuthbert's hall. 




29 



450 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



I^aroltj tfje ISauntlesB. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



Full many a bard hath sung the solemn gloom 
Of the long Gothic aisle and stone-ribbed roof, 
O'er-canopying shrine and gorgeous tomb, 
Carved screen, and altar glimmering far aloof 
And blending with the shade — a matchless proof 
Of high devotion, which hath now waxed cold; 
Yet legends say that Luxury's brute hoof 
Intruded oft within such sacred fold, 
Like step of Bel's false priest tracked in his fane of old. 

Well pleased am I, howe'er, that when the route 
Of our rude neighbors whilome deigned to come, 
Uncalled and eke unwelcome, to sweep out 
And cleanse our chancel from the rags of Rome, 
They spoke not on our ancient fane the doom 
To which their bigot zeal gave o'er their own, 
But spared the martyred saint and storied tomb. 
Though papal miracles had graced the stone, 
And though the aisles still loved the organ's swelling tone. 



And deem not, though 't is now my part to paint 
A prelate swayed by love of power and gold, 
That all who wore the mitre of our Saint 
Like to ambitious Aldingar I hold; 
Since both in modern times and days of old 
It sate on those whose virtues might atone 
Their predecessors' frailties trebly told: 
Matthew and Morton we as such may own — 
And such — if fame speak truth — the honored Barrington. 



But now to earlier and to ruder times. 
As subject meet, I tune my rugged 

rhymes, 
Telling how fairly the chapter was met, 
And rood and books in seemly order set; 
Huge brass-clasped volumes which the 

hand 
Of studious priest but rarely scanned, 
Now on fair carved desk displayed, 
'T was theirs the solemn scene to aid. 
O'erhead with many a scutcheon graced 
And quaint devices interlaced, 
A labyrinth of crossing rows, 
The roof in lessening arches shows; 
Beneath its shade placed proud and high 
With footstool and with canopy, 
Sate Aldingar — and prelate ne'er 
More haughty graced Saint Cuthbert's 

chair; 
Canons and deacons were placed below, 
In due degree and lengthened row. 
Unmoved and silent each sat there, 



Like image in his oaken chair ; 

Nor head nor hand nor foot they stirred, 

Nor lock of hair nor tress of beard ; 

And of their eyes severe alone 

The twinkle showed they were not stone. 



The prelate was to speech addressed, 
Each head sunk reverent on each breast; 
But ere his voice was heard — without 
Arose a wild tumultuous shout. 
Offspring of wonder mixed with fear, 
Such as in crowded streets we hear 
Hailing the flames that, bursting out, 
Attract yet scare the rabble rout. 
Ere it had ceased a giant hand 
Shook oaken door and iron band 
Till oak and iron both gave way. 
Clashed the long bolts, the hinges bray. 
And, ere upon angel or saint they can call, 
Stands Harold the Dauntless in midst of 
the hall. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



451 



' Now save ye, my masters, both rocket and 
rood, 

From bishop with mitre to deacon with 
hood ! 

For here stands Count Harold, old Witi- 
kind's son, 

Come to sue for the lands which his ances- 
tors won.' 

The prelate looked round him with sore 
troubled eye. 

Unwilling to grant yet afraid to deny ; 

While each canon and deacon who heard 
the Dane speak. 

To be safely at home would have fasted a 
week : — 

Then Aldingar roused him and answered 
again, 

' Thou suest for a boon which thou canst 
not obtain ; 

The Church hath no fiefs for an unchris- 
tened Dane. 

Thy father was wise, and his treasure hath 
given 

That the priests of a chantry might hymn 
him to heaven ; 

And the fiefs which whilome he possessed 
as his due 

Have lapsed to the Church, and been 
granted anew 

To Anthony Conyers and Alberic Vere, 

For the service Saint Cuthbert's blest ban- 
ner to bear 

When the bands of the North come to foray 
the Wear; 

Then disturb not our conclave with wrang- 
ling or blame, 

But in peace and in patience pass hence as 
ye came.' 



Loud laughed the stern Pagan, ' They 're 

free from the care 
Of fief and of service, both Conyers and 

Vere, — 
Six feet of your chancel is all they will 

need, 
A buckler of stone and a corselet of lead. — 
Ho, Gunnar ! — the tokens!' — and, severed 

anew, 
A head and a hand on the altar he threw. 
Then shuddered with terror both canon 

and monk. 
They knew the glazed eye and the counte- 
nance shrunk. 
And of Anthony Conyers the half-grizzled 

hair. 
And the scar on the hand of Sir Alberic 

Vere. 



There was not a churchman or priest that 

was there 
But grew pale at the sight and betook him 

to prayer. 



VI. 

Count Harold laughed at their looks of fear : 
'Was this the hand should your banner 

bear? 
Was that the head should wear the casque 
In battle at the Church's task? 
Was it to such you gave the place 
Of Harold with the heavy mace ? 
Find me between the Wear and Tyne 
A knight will wield this club of mine, — 
Give him my fiefs, and I will say 
There 's wit beneath the cowl of gray.' 
He raised it, rough with many a stain 
Caught from crushed skull and spouting 

brain ; 
He wheeled it that it shrilly sung 
And the aisles echoed as it swung. 
Then dashed it down with sheer descent 
And split King Osric's monument. — 
' How like ye this music ? How trow ye 

the hand 
That can wield such a mace may be reft of 

its land ? 
No answer ? — I spare ye a space to agree. 
And Saint Cuthbert inspire you, a saint if 

he be. 
Ten strides through your chancel, ten 

strokes on your bell, 
And again I am with you — grave fathers, 

farewell.' 

VII. 

He turned from their presence, he clashed 

the oak door, 
And the clang of his stride died away on 

the floor ; 
And his head from his bosom the prelate 

uprears 
With a ghost-seer's look when the ghost. 

disappears : 
' Ye Priests of Saint Cuthbert, now give 

me your rede. 
For never of counsel had bishop more need ! 
Were the arch-fiend incarnate in flesh and 

in bone. 
The language, the look, and the laugh were 

his own. 
In the bounds of Saint Cuthbert there is 

not a knight 
Dare confront in our quarrel yon goblin in 

fight; 
Then rede me aright to his claim to reply, 
'T is unlawful to grant and 't is death to 

deny.' 



452 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



On venison and malmsie that morning had 

fed 
The Cellarer Vinsauf — 'twas thus that he 

said : 
' Delay till to-morrow the Chapter's reply ; 
Let the feast be spread fair and the wine 

be poured high : 
If he's mortal he drinks, — if he drinks. 

he is ours — 
His bracelets of iron, — his bed in our 

towers.' 
This man had a laughing eye, 
Trust not, friends, when such you spy ; 
A beaker's depth he well could drain. 
Revel, sport, and jest amain — 
The haunch of the deer and the grape's 

bright dye 
Never bard loved them better than I ; 
But sooner than Vinsauf filled me my wine, 
Passed me his jest, and laughed at mine, 
Though the buck were of Bearpark, of 

Bourdeaux the vine. 
With the dullest hermit I 'd rather dine 
On an oaken cake and a draught of the 

Tyne. 



Walwayn the leech spoke next — he knew 
Each plant that loves the sun and dew. 
But special those whose juice can gain 
Dominion o'er the blood and brain ; 
The peasant who saw him by pale moon- 
beam 
Gathering such herbs by bank and stream 
Deemed his thin form and soundless tread 
Were those of wanderer from the dead. — 
' Vinsauf, thy wine.' he said, 'hath power, 
Our gyves are heavy, strong our tower ; 
Yet three drops from this flask of mine. 
More strong than dungeons, gyves, or 

wine. 
Shall give him prison under ground 
More dark, more narrow, more profound. 
Short rede, good rede, let Harold have — 
A dog's death and a heathen's grave.' 
I have lain on a sick man's bed, 
Watching for hours for the leech's tread, 
As if I deemed that his presence alone 
Were of power to bid my pain begone : 
I have listed his words of comfort given. 
As if to oracles from heaven ; 
I have counted his steps from my chamber 

door, 
And blessed them wiien tliey were heard 

no more ; • — 
But sooner than Walwayn my sick couch 

should nigh, 
My choice were by leech-craft unaided to 
die. 



' Such service done in fervent zeal 
The Church may pardon and conceal,' 
The doubtful prelate said, ' but ne'er 
The counsel ere the act should hear. — 
Anselm of Jarrow, advise us now. 
The stamp of wisdom is on thy brow ; 
Thy days, thy nights, in cloister pent, 
Are still to mystic learning lent: — 
Anselm of Jarrow, in thee is my hope. 
Thou well mayst give counsel to prelate or 
pope.' 

XI. 

Answered the prior — "T is wisdom's use 
Still to delay what we dare not refuse ; 
Ere granting the boon he comes hither to 

ask. 
Shape for the giant gigantic task ; 
Let us see how a step so sounding can 

tread 
In paths of darkness, danger, and dread ; 
He may not, he will not, impugn our decree 
That calls but for proof of his chivalry; 
And were Guy to return or Sir Bevis the 

Strong, 
Our wilds have adventure might cumber 

them long — 
The Castle of Seven Shields ' — ' Kind 

Anselm, no more ! 
The step of the Pagan approaches the door.' 
The churchmen were hushed. — In his 

mantle of skin 
With his mace on his shoulder Count 

Harold strode in. 
There was foam on his lips, there was fire 

in his eye, 
For, chafed by attendance, his fury was 

nigh. 
' Ho ! Bishop,' he said, ' dost thou grant 

me my claim? 
Or must I assert it by falchion and flame .-* ' 

XII. 

'On thy suit, gallant Harold,' the bishop 

replied, 
In accents which trembled, ' we may not 

decide 
Until proof of your strength and your valor 

we saw — 
'T is not that we doubt them, but such is 

the law.' — 
' And would you. Sir Prelate, have Harold 

make sport 
For the cowls and the shavelings that herd 

in thy court ? 
Say what shall he do? — From the shrine 

shall he tear 
The lead bier of thy patron and heave it in 

air. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



45: 



And through the long chancel make Cuth- 

bert take wing 
With the speed of a bullet dismissed from 

the sling?' — 
' Nay, spare such probation,' the cellarer 

said, 
' From the mouth of our minstrels thy task 

shall be read. 
While the wine sparkles high in the goblet 

of gold 
And the revel is loudest, thy task shall be 

told ; 
And thyself, gallant Harold, shall, hearing 

it, tell 
That the bishop, his cowls, and his shave- 
lings, meant well.' 



Loud revelled the guests and the goblets 

loud rang, 
But louder the minstrel, Hugh Meneville, 

sang ; 
And Harold, the hurry and pride of whose 

soul, 
E'en when verging to fury, owned rnusic's 

control, 
Still bent on the harper his broad sable eye, 
And often untasted the goblet passed by ; 
Than wine or than wassail to him was more 

dear 
The minstrel's high tale of enchantment to 

hear ; 
And the bishop that day might of Vinsauf 

complain 
That his art had but wasted his wine-casks 

in vain. 



2ri)c Castk of tl)t $ctrn SfjiclUs. 

A BALLAD. 

The Druid Urien had daughters seven. 
Their skill could call the moon from heaven; 
So fair their forms and so high their fame 
That seven proud kings for their suitors 
came. 

King Mador and Rhys came from Powis 

and Wales, 
Unshorn was their hair and unpruned were 

their nails ; 
From Strath-Clyde was Ewain, and Ewain 

was lame, 
And the red-bearded Donald from Galloway 

came. 

Lot, King of Lodon, was hunchbacked from 

youth ; 
Dunmail of Cumbria had never a tooth : 



But Adolf of Bambrough, Northumberland's 

heir. 
Was gay and was gallant, was young and 

was fair. 

There was strife 'mongst the sisters, for 

each one would have 
For husband King Adolf, the gallant and 

brave ; 
And envy bred hate, and hate urged them 

to blows. 
When the firm earth was cleft and the 

Arch-fiend arose ! 

He swore to the maidens their wish to 

fulfil — 
They swore to the foe they would work by 

his will. 
A spindle and distaff to each hath he given, 
' Now hearken my spell,' said the Outcast 

of heaven. 

' Ye shall ply these spindles at midnight 
hour, 

And for every spindle shall rise a tower. 

Where the right shall be feeble, the wrong 
shall have power. 

And there shall ye dwell with your para- 
mour.' 

Beneath the pale moonlight they sate on 
the wold. 

And the rhymes which they chanted must 
never be told ; 

And as the black wool from the distaff they 
sped, 

With blood from their bosom they moist- 
ened the thread. 

As light danced the spindles beneath the 

cold gleam. 
The castle arose like the birth of a dream — 
The seven towers ascended like mist from 

the ground, 
Seven portals defend them, seven ditches 

surround. 

Within thaf dread castle seven monarchs 
were wed. 

But six of the seven ere the morning lay 
dead; 

With their eyes all on fire and their daggers 
all red, 

Seven damsels surround the Northum- 
brian's bed. 

' Six kingly bridegrooms to death we have 

done. 
Six gallant kingdoms Kins: Adolf hath won. 



454 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Six lovely brides all his pleasure to do, 
Or the bed of the seventh shall be husband- 
less too.' 

Well chanced it that Adolf the night when 
he wed 

Had confessed and had sained him ere 
boune to his bed ; 

He sprung from the couch and his broad- 
sword he drew, 

And there the seven daughters of Urien he 
slew. 

The gate of the castle he bolted and sealed, 
And hung o'er each arch-stone a crown and 

a shield ; 
To the cells of Saint Dunstan then wended 

his way, 
And died in his cloister an anchorite gray. 

Seven monarchs' wealth in that castle lies 

stowed. 
The foul fiends brood o'er them like raven 

and toad. 
Whoever shall guesten these chambers 

within. 
From curfew till matins, that treasure shall 

win. 



But manhood grows faint as the world 

waxes old ! 
There lives not in Britain a champion so 

bold, 
So dauntless of heart, and so prudent of 

brain. 
As to dare the adventure that treasure to 

gain. 

The waste ridge of Cheviot shall wave with 
the rye, 

Before the rude Scots shall Northumber- 
land fly. 

And the flint cliffs of Bambro' shall melt 
in the sun. 

Before that adventure be perilled and won. 



' And is this my probation ? ' wild Harold 

he said, 
' Within a lone castle to press a lone 

bed }— 
Good even, my lord bishop, — Saint Cuth- 

bert to borrow. 
The Castle of Seven Shields receives me 

to-morrow.' 



^^arolli tfje ©auntless. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



Denmark's sage courtier to her princely youth, 
Granting his cloud an ousel or a whale. 
Spoke, though unwittingly, a partial truth ; 
For Fantasy embroiders Nature's veil. 
The tints of ruddy eve or dawning pale, 
Of the swart thunder-cloud or silver haze, 
Are but the ground-work of the rich detail 
Which Fantasy with pencil wild portrays, 
Blending what seems and is in the wrapt muser's gaze. 



Nor are the stubborn forms of earth and stone 
Less to the Sorceress's empire given; 
For not with unsubstantial hues alone. 
Caught from the varying surge of vacant heaven, 
From bursting sunbeam or from flashing levin, 
She limns her pictures : on the earth, as air, 
Arise her castles and her car is driven; 
And never gazed the eye on scene so fair, 
But of its boasted charms gave Fancy half the share. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



455 



Up a wild pass went Harold, bent to prove, 
Hugh Meneville, the adventure of thy lay ; 
Gunnar pursued his steps in faith and love. 
Ever companion of his master's way. 
Midward their path, a rock of granite gray 
From the adjoining cliff had made descent, — 
A barren mass — * yet with her drooping spray 
Had a young birch-tree crowned its battlement. 
Twisting her fibrous roots through cranny, flaw, and rent. 

This rock and tree could Gunnar's thought engage 
Till Fancy brought the tear-drop to his eye, 
And at his master asked the timid page, 
' What is the emblem that a bard should spy 
In that rude rock and its green canopy .'" 
And Harold said, ' Like to the helmet brave 
Of warrior slain in fight it seems to lie. 
And these same drooping boughs do o'er it wave 
Not all unlike the plume his lady's favor gave.' 

'Ah, no! ' replied the page; 'the ill-starred love 
Of some poor maid is in the emblem shown, 
Whose fates are with some hero's interwove 
And rooted on a heart to love unknown : 
And as tlie gentle dews of heaven alone 
Nourish those drooping boughs, and as the scathe 
Of the red lightning rends both tree and stone. 
So fares it with her unrequited faith, — 
Her sole relief is tears — her only refuge death.' 



' Thou art a fond fantastic boy,' 
Harold replied, ' to females coy. 

Yet prating still of love ; 
Even so amid the clash of war 
I know thou lov'st to keep afar. 
Though destined by thy evil star 

With one like me to rove, 
Whose business and whose joys are found 
Upon the bloody battle-ground. 
Yet, foolish trembler as thou art, 
Thou hast a nook of my rude heart, 
And thou and I will never part ; — 
Harold would wrap the world in flame 
Ere injury on Gunnar came.' 



The grateful page made no reply. 
But turned to heaven his gentle eye, 
And clasped his hands, as one who said, 
' My toils — my wanderings are o'erpaid!' 
Then in a gayer, lighter strain, 
Compelled himself to speech again; 

And, as they flowed along, 
His words took cadence soft and slow. 
And liquid, like dis^lving snow. 

They melted into song. 



' What though through fields of carnage 

wide 
I may not follow Harold's stride, 
Yet who with faithful Gunnar's pride 

Lord Harold's feats can see ? 
And dearer than the couch of pride 
He loves the bed of gray wolf's hide. 
When slumbering by Lord Harold's side 

In forest, field, or lea.' 



' Break off ! ' said Harold, in a tone 
Where hurry and surprise were shown. 

With some slight touch of fear, 
' Break off, we are not here alone ; 
A palmer form comes slowly on ! 
By cowl and staff and mantle known, 

My monitor is near. 
Now mark him, Gunnar, heedfully;- 
He pauses by the blighted tree — 
Dost see him, youth .^ — Thou couldst not 

see 
When in the vale of Galilee 

I first beheld his form. 
Nor when we met that other while 
In Cephalonia's rocky isle 



456 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Before the fearful storm, — 
Dosf see him now?' — The page, dis- 
traught 
With terror, answered, ' I see naught. 

And there is naught to see. 
Save that the oak"s scathed boughs fling 

down 
Upon the path a shadow brown 
That, hke a pilgrim's dusky gown, 

Waves with the waving tree.' 



Count Harold gazed upon the oak 
As if his eyestrings would have broke. 

And then resolvedly said, 
' Be what it will yon phantom gray — 
Nor heaven nor hell shall ever say 
That for their shadows from his way 

Count Harold turned dismayed : 
I '11 speak him, though his accents fill 
My heart with that unwonted thrill 

Which vulgar minds call fear. 
I will subdue" it ! ' Forth he strode. 
Paused where the blighted oak-tree 

showed 
Its sable shadow on the road, 
And, folding on his bosom broad 

His arms, said, • Speak — 1 hear.' 



The Deep Voice said, ' O wild of will, 
Furious thy purpose to fulfil — 
Heart-seared and unrepentant still. 
How long, O Harold, shall thy tread 
Disturb the slumbers of the dead ? 
Each step in thy wild way thou makest, 
The ashes of the dead thou wakest ; 
And shout in triumph o'er thy path 
The fiends of bloodshed and of wrath. 
In this thine hour, yet turn and heaV ! 
For life is brief and judgment near.' 



Then ceased the Voice. — The Dane re- 
plied 
In tones where awe and inborn pride 
For mastery strove, ' In vain ye chide 
The wolf for ravaging the flock, 
Or with its hardness taunt the rock, — 
I am as they — my Danish strain 
Sends streams of fire through every vein. 
Amid thy realms of goule and ghost. 
Say, is the fame of Eric lost, 
Or Witikind's the Waster, known 
Where fame or spoil was to be won ; 
Whose galleys ne'er bore off a shore 

They left not black with flame .'' — • 
He was my sire, — and, sprung of him. 
That rover merciless and grim, 

Can I be soft and tame "i 



Part hence and with my crimes no more 

upbraid me, 
I am that Waster's son and am but what 

he made me.' 



The Phantom groaned ; — the mountain 

shook around. 
The fawn and wild-doe started at the sound. 
The gorse and fern did wildly round them 

wave. 
As if some sudden storm the impulse gave. 
' All thou hast said is truth — yet on the 

head 
Of that bad sire let not the charge be laid 
That he, like thee, with unrelenting pace 
From g2-ave to cradle ran the evil race : — • 
Relentless in his avarice and ire. 
Churches and towns he gave to sword and 

fire ; 
Shed blood like water, wasted every land. 
Like the destroying angel's burning brand ; 
Fulfilled whate'er of ill might be invented, 
Yes — all these things he did — he did, but 

he REPENTED ! 

Perchance it is part of his punishment still 
That his offspring pursues his example of 

ill. 
But thou, when thy tempest of wrath shall 

next shake thee. 
Gird thy loins for resistance, my son, and 

awake thee ; 
If thou yield'st to thy fury, how tempted 

soever, 
The gate of repentance shall ope for thee 

NEVER ! ' 



' He is gone,' said Lord Harold and gazed 

as he spoke ; 
' There is naught on the path but the shade 

of the oak. 
He is gone whose strange presence my 

feeling oppressed. 
Like the nighi-hag that sits on the slinn- 

berer's breast. 
My heart beats as thick as a fugitive's tread. 
And cold dews drop from my brow and my 

head. — 
Ho ! Gunnar, the flasket yon almoner gave ; 
He said that three drops would recall from 

the grave. 
P'or the first time Count Harold owns leech- 
craft has power. 
Or, his courage to aid, lacks the juice of a 

flower ! ' 
The page gave the flasket, which Walwayn 

had filled 
With the juice of wild roots that his heart 

had distilled — 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



457 



So baneful their influence on all that had 

breath, 
One drop had been frenzy and two had been 

death. 
Harold took it, but ch-ank not : for jubilee 

shrill 
And music and clamor were heard on the 

hill, 
And down the steep pathway o"er stock and 

o'er stone 
The train of a bridal came blithesomely on ; 
There was song, there was pipe, there was 

timbrel, and still 
The burden was, ' Joy to the fair Metelill ! ' 



Harold might see from his high stance, 
Himself unseen, that train advance 

With mirth and melody ; — 
On horse and foot a mingled throng, 
Measuring their steps to bridal song 

And bridal minstrelsy; 
And ever when the blithesome rout 
Lent to the song their choral shout, 
Redoubling echoes rolled about. 
While echoing cave and cliff sent out 

The answering symphony 
Of all those mimic notes which dwell 
In hollow rock and soundins: dell. 



Joy shook his torch above the band. 
By many a various passion fanned : — 
As elemental sparks can feed 
On essence pure and coarsest weed. 
Gentle or stormy or refined, 
Joy takes the colors of the mind. 
Lightsome and pure but unrepressed. 
He fired the bridegroom's gallant breast : 
More feebly strove with maiden fear, 
Yet still joy glimmered through the tear 
On the bride's blushing cheek that shows 
Like dewdrop on the budding rose ; 
While W^ilfstane's gloomy smile declared 
The glee that selfish avarice shared, 
And pleased revenge and malice high 
Joy's semblance took in Jutta's eye. 
On dangerous adventure sped, 
The witch deemed Harold with the dead. 
For thus that morn her demon said : — 
• If, ere the set of sun, be tied 
The knot 'twixt bridegroom and his bride, 
The Dane shall have no power of ill 
O'er William and o'er Metelill.' 
And the pleased witch made answer, 

' Then 
Must Harold have passed from the paths 

of men ! 
Evil repose may his spirit have, — 



May hemlock and mandrake find root in 
his grave, — 

May his death-sleep be dogged by dreams 
of dismay, 

And his waking be worse at the answer- 
ing day ! ' 

.XIV. 

Such was their various mood of glee 
Blent in one shout of ecstasy. 
But still when Joy is brimming highest. 
Of sorrow and misfortune nighest, 
Of Terror with her ague cheek, 
And lurking Danger, sages speak : — 
These haunt each path, but chief they lay 
Their snares beside the primrose way. — 
Thus found that bridal band their path 
Beset by Harold in his wrath. 
Trembling beneath his maddening mood. 
High on a rock the giant stood ; 
His shout was like the doom of death 
Spoke o'er their heads that passed be- 
neath. 
His destined victims might not spy 
The reddening terrors of his eye. 
The frown of rage that writhed his face. 
The lip that foamed like boar's in chase ; 
But all could see — and, seeing, all 
Bore back to shun the threatened fall — 
The fragment which their giant foe 
Rent from the cliff and heaved to throw. 



Backward they bore — yet are there two 

For battle who prepare : 
No pause of dread Lord William knew 

Ere his good blade was bare ; 
And Wulfstane bent his fatal yew. 
But ere the silken cord he drew. 
As hurled from Hecla's thunder flew 

That ruin through the air ! 
Full on the outlaw's front it came, 
And all that late had human name. 
And human face, and human frame. 
That lived and moved and had free will 
To choose the path of good or ill. 

Is to its reckoning gone ; 
And naught of Wulfstane rests behind 

Save that beneath that stone, 
Half-buried in the dinted clay, 
A red and shapeless mass there lay 

Of mingled flesh and bone ! 



As from the bosom of the sky 

The eagle darts amain, 
Three bounds from yonder summit high 

Placed Harold on the plain. 
As the scared wild-fowl scream and fly, 

So fled the bridal train ; 



458 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



As 'gainst the eagle's peerless might 
The noble falcon dares the fight, 

But dares the fight in vain, 
So fought the bridegroom ; from his 

hand 
The Dane's rude mace has struck his 

brand. 
Its glittering fragments strew the sand. 

Its lord lies on the plain. 
Now, Heaven ! take noble William's part, 
And melt that yet unmelted heart. 
Or, ere his bridal hour depart. 

The hapless bridegroom 's slain I 



Count Harold's frenzied rage is high, 

There is a death-fire in his eye, 

Deep furrows on his brow are trenched, 

His teeth are set, his hand is clenched, 

The foam upon his lip is white, 

His deadly arm is up to smite ! 

But, as the mace aloft he swung. 

To stop the blow young Gunnar sprung. 

Around his master's knees he clung. 

And cried, ' In mercy spare ! 
O, think upon the words of fear 
Spoke by that visionary Seer, 
The crisis he foretold is here, — 

Grant mercy, — or despair ! ' 
This word suspended Harold's mood. 
Yet still with arm upraised he stood. 
And visage like the headsman's rude 

That pauses for the sign. 
' O mark thee with the blessed rood,' 
The page implored ; ' Speak word of 

good, 
Resist the fiend or be subdued! ' 

He signed the cross divine — 
Instant his eye hath human light. 
Less red, less keen, less fiercely bright : 
His brow relaxed the obdurate frown. 
The fatal mace sinks gently down, 

He turns and strides away ; 
Yet oft, like revellers who leave 
Unfinished feast, looks back to grieve. 
As if repenting the reprieve 

He granted to his prey. 



Yet still of forbearance one sign hath he 

given. 
And fierce Witikind's son made one step 

towards heaven. 



But though his dreaded footsteps part. 
Death is behind and shakes his dart ; 
Lord William on the plain is lying, 
Beside him Metelill seems dying ! — 
Bring odors — essences in haste — 
And lo ! a flasket richly chased, — 
But Jutta the elixir proves 
Ere pouring it for those she loves — 
Then Walwayn's potion was not wasted. 
For when three drops the hag had tasted 

So dismal was her yell. 
Each bird of evil omen woke, 
The raven gave his fatal croak. 
And shrieked the night-crow from the oak. 
The screech-owl from the thicket broke. 

And fluttered down the dell ! 
So fearful was the sound and stern, 
The slumbers of the full-gorged erne 
Were startled, and from furze and fern 

Of forest and of fell 
The fox and famished wolf replied — 
For wolves then prowled the Cheviot 

side — 
From mountain head to mountain head 
The unhallowed sounds around were 

sped ; 
But when their latest echo fled 
The sorceress on the ground lay dead. 



Such was the scene of blood and woes 
With which the bridal morn arose 

Of William and of Metelill; 
But oft, when dawning 'gins to spread, 
The summer morn peeps dim and red 

Above the eastern hill,« 
Ere, bright and fair, upon his road 
The king of splendor walks abroad : 
So, when this cloud had passed away, 
Bright was the noontide of their day 
And all serene its settins rav. 




HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 459 



l^aroIU tf)c dauntless. 

CANTO SIXTH. 



Well do I hope that this my minstrel tale 
Will tempt no traveller from southern fields, 
Whether in tilbury, barouche, or mail, 
To view the Castle of these Seven Proud Shields. 
Small confirmation its condition yields 
To Meneville's high lay, — no towers are seen 
On the wild heath but those that Fancy builds. 
And, save a fosse that tracks the moor with green, 
Is naught remains to tell of what may there have been. 

And yet grave authors, with the no small waste 
Of their grave time, have dignified the spot 
By theories, to prove the fortress placed 
By Roman bands to curb the invading Scot. 
Hutchinson, Horseley, Camden, I might quote, 
But rather choose the theory less civil 
Of boors, who, origin of things forgot, 
Refer still to the origin of evil. 
And for their master-mason choose that master-fiend the Devil. 



Therefore, I say, it was on fiend-built towers 
That stout Count Harold bent his wondering gaze 
When evening dew was on the heather flowers. 
And the last sunbeams made the mountain blaze 
And tinged the battlements of other days 
With the bright level light ere sinking down. 
Illumined thus, the dauntless Dane surveys 
The Seven Proud Shields that o'er the portal frown. 
And on their blazons traced high marks of old renown. 

A wolf North Wales had on his armor-coat, 
And Rhys of Powis-land a couchant stag ; 
Strath-Clwyd's strange emblem was a stranded boat, 
Donald of Galloway's a trotting nag ; 
A corn-sheaf gilt was fertile Lodon's brag ; 
A dudgeon-dagger was by Dunmail worn ; 
Northumbrian Adolf gave a sea-beat crag 
Surmounted by a cross — such signs were borne 
Upon these antique shields, all wasted now and worn. 

in. 

These scanned. Count Harold sought the castle-door. 
Whose ponderous bolts were rusted to decay ; 
Yet till that hour adventurous knight forbore 
The unobstructed passage to essay. 
More strong- than armed warders in array. 
And obstacle more sure than bolt or bar. 
Sate in the portal Terror and Dismay, 
While Superstition, who forbade to war 
With foes of other mould than mortal clay, 
Cast spells across the gate and barred the onward way. 



460 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Vain now those spells ; for soon with heavy clank 
The feebly-fastened gate was inward pushed, 
And, as it oped, through that emblazoned rank 
Of antique shields the wind of evening rushed 
With sound most like a groan and then was hushed. 
Is none who on such spot such sounds could hear 
But to his heart the blood had faster rushed ; 
Yet to bold Harold's breast that throb was dear — 
It spoke of danger nigh, but had no touch of fear. 



Yet Harold and his page no signs have traced 
Within the castle that of danger showed; 
For still the halls and courts were wild and waste, 
As through their precincts the adventurers trode. 
The seven huge towers rose stately, tall, and broad. 
Each tower presenting to their scrutiny 
A hall in which a king might make abode. 
And fast beside, garnished both proud and high, 
Was placed a bower for rest in which a king might lie. 

As if a bridal there of late had been, 
Decked stood the table in each gorgeous hall; 
And yet it was two hundred years, I ween. 
Since date of that unhallowed festival. 
Flagons and ewers and standing cups were all 
Of tarnished gold or silver nothing clear. 
With throne begilt and canopy of pall. 
And tapestry clothed the walls with fragments sear- 
Frail as the spider's mesh did that rich woof appear. 



In every bower, as round a hearse, was hung 
A dusky crimson curtain o'er the bed. 
And on each couch in ghastly wise were flung 
The wasted relics of a monarch dead ; 
Barbaric ornaments around were spread. 
Vests twined with gold and chains of precious stone. 
And golden circlets, meet for monarch's head; 
While grinned, as if in scorn amongst them thrown, 
The wearer's fleshless skull, alike with dust bestrewn. 

For these were they who, drunken with delight, 
On pleasure's opiate pillow laid their head, 
For whom the bride's shy footstep, slow and light, 
Was changed ere morning to the murderer's tread. 
For human bliss and woe in the frail thread 
Of human life are all so closely twined 
That till the shears of Fate the texture shred 
The close succession cannot be disjoined, 
Nor dare we from one hour judge that which comes behind. 



But where the work of vengeance had been done, 
In that seventh chamber, was a sterner sight; 
There of the witch-brides lay each skeleton. 
Still in the posture as to death when dight. 
For this lay prone, by one blow slain outright ; 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



461 



And that, as one who struggled long in dying ; 
One bony hand held knife, as if to smite ; 
One bent on fleshless knees, as mercy crying ; 
One lay across the door, as killed in act of flying. 

The stern Dane smiled this charnel-house to see, — 
For his chafed thought returned to MeteHll ; — 
And ' Well,' he said, • hath woman's perfidy, 
Empty as air, as water volatile, 
Been here avenged. — The origin of ill 
Through woman rose, the Christian doctrine saith : 
Nor deem I, Gunnar, that thy minstrel skill 
Can show example where a woman's breath 
Hath made a true-love vow, and tempted kept her faith.' 



The minstrel-boy half smiled, half sighed. 
And his half-filling eyes he dried, 
And said, 'The theme I should but wrong, 
Unless it were my dying song — 
Our Scalds have said, in dying hour 
The Northern harp has treble power — 
Else could I tell of woman's faith. 
Defying danger, scorn, and death. 
Firm was that faith- — as diamond stone 
Pure and unflawed — her love unknown 
And unrequited ; — firm and pure. 
Her stainless faith could all endure ; 
From clime to clime, from place to place. 
Through want and danger and disgrace. 
A wanderer's wayward steps could trace. 
All this she did. and guerdon none 
Required save that her burial-stone 
Should make at length the secret known, 
" Thus hath a faithful woman done." — 
Not in each breast such truth is laid, 
But Eivir was a Danish maid.' 



VIII. 

' Thou art a wild enthusiast," said 
Count Harold, 'for thy Danish maid; 
And yet, young Gunnar, I will own 
Hers were a faith to rest upon. 
But Eivir sleeps beneath her stone 
And all resembling her are gone. 
What maid e'er showed such constancy 
In plighted faith, Hke thine to me .' 
But couch thee, boy ; the darksome shade 
Falls thickly round, nor be dismayed 

Because the dead are by. 
They were as we : our little dav 
O'erspent, and we shall be as the\-. 
Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou laid. 
Thy couch upon my mantle made, 
That thou mayst think, should fear invade, 

Thy master slumbers nigh.' 
Thus couched they in that dread abode, 
Until the beams of dawning glowed. 



IX. 

An altered man Lord Harold rose. 
When he beheld that dawn unclose — 

There 's trouble in his eyes. 
And traces on his brow and cheek 
Of mingled awe and w'onder speak : 

' My page,' he said, ' arise ; — 
Leave we this place, my page.' — Xo 

more 
He uttered till the castle door 
They crossed — but there he paused and 

said, 
' My wildness hath awaked the dead — 

Disturbed the sacred tomb ! 
Methought this night I stood on high 
Where Hecla roars in middle sky. 
And in her caverned gulfs could spy 
The central place of doom; 
And there before my mortal eye 
Souls of the dead came flitting by. 
Whom fiends with many a fiendish zry 

Bore to that evil den ! 
My eyes grew dizzy and my brain 
Was wildered, as the elvish train 
AVith shriek and howl dragged on amain 

Those who had late been men. 



' With haggard eyes and streaming hair, 
Jutta the Sorceress was there. 
And there passed Wulfstane lately slain, 
All crushed and foul with bloody 

stain. — 
More had I seen, but that uprose 
A whirlwind wild and swept the snows : 
And with such sound as when at need 
A champion spurs his horse to speed, 
Three armed knights rush on who lead 
Caparisoned a sable steed. 
Sable their harness, and there came 
Through their closed visors sparks of 

flame. 
The first proclaimed, in sounds of fear, 



462 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" Harold the Dauntless, welcome here ! '' 
The next cried, " Jubilee ! we 've won 
Count Witikind the Waster's son ! ' 
And the third rider sternly spoke, 
" Mount, in the name of Zernebock ! — 
From us, O Harold, were thy powers, — 
Thy strength, thy dauntlessness, are ours ; 
Nor think, a vassal thou of hell, 
With hell can strive." The fiend spoke 

true ! 
My inmost soul the summons knew. 

As captives know the knell 
That says the headsman's sword is bare 
And with an accent of despair 

Commands them quit their cell. 
I felt resistance was in vain, 
My foot had that fell stirrup ta'en, 
My hand was on the fatal mane, 

When to my rescue sped 
That palmer's visionary form, 
And — like the passing of a storm — 

The demons yelled and fled ! 



' His sable cowl flung back revealed 
The features it before concealed ; 

'And, Gunnar, I could find 
In him whose counsels strove to stay 
So oft my course on wilful way 

My father Witikind ! 
Doomed for his sins and doomed for mine 
A wanderer upon earth to pine 
Until his son shall turn to grace 
And smooth for him a resting-place. — • 
Gunnar, he must not haunt in vain 
This world of wretchedness and pain : 
I '11 tame my wilful heart to live 
In peace — to pity and forgive — 
And thou, for so the Vision said. 
Must in thy Lord's repentance aid. 
Thy mother was a prophetess. 
He said, who by her skill could guess 
How close the fatal textures join 
Which knit thy thread of life with mine; 
Then dark he hinted of disguise 
She framed to cheat too curious eyes 
That not a moment might divide 
Thy fated footsteps from my side. 
Methought while thus my sire did teach 
I caught the meaning of his speech, 
Yet seems its purport doubtful now.' 
His hand then sought his thoughtful 

brow — 
Then first he marked, that in the towei 
His glove was left at waking hour. 



Trembling at first and deadly pale, 
Had Gunnar heard the visioned tale; 



But when he learned the dubious close 
He blushed like any opening rose, 
And, glad to hide his tell-tale cheek. 
Hied back that glove of mail to seek ; 
When soon a shriek of deadly dread 
Summoned his master to his aid. 

XIII. 

What sees Count Harold in that bower 

So late his resting-place ? — 
The semblance of the Evil Power, 

Adored by all his race ! 
Odin in living form stood there, 
His cloak the spoils of Polar bear; 
For plumy crest a meteor shed 
Its gloomy radiance o'er his head, 
Yet veiled its haggard majesty 
To the wild lightnings of his eye. 
Such height was his as when in stone 
O'er Upsal's giant altar shown : 

So flowed his hoary beard ; 
Such was his lance of mountain-pine. 
So did his sevenfold buckler shine ; 

But when his voice he reared. 
Deep without harshness, slow and strong, 
The powerful accents rolled along. 
And while he spoke his hand was laid 
On captive Gunnar's shrinking head. 



' Harold,' he said, ' what rage is thine 
To quit the worship of thy line. 

To leave thy Warrior-God? — 
With me is glory or disgrace. 
Mine is the onset and the chase, 
Embattled hosts before my face 

Are withered by a nod. 
Wilt thou then forfeit that high seat 
Deserved by many a dauntless feat 
Among the heroes of thy line, 
Eric and fiery Thorarine? — 
Thou wilt not. Only I can give 
The joys for which the valiant live, 
Victory and vengeance — only I 
Can give the joys for which they die, 
The immortal tilt — the banquet full. 
The brimming draught from foeman's 

skull. 
Mine art thou, witness this thy glove. 
The faithful pledge of vassal's love. 



XV. 

' Tempter,' said Harold, firm of heart, 
' 1 charge thee, hence ! whate'er thou art, 
I do defy thee — and resist 
The kindling frenzy of my breast, 
Waked by thy words ; and of my mail 
Nor glove nor buckler, splent nor nail, 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



463 



Shall rest with thee — that youth release, 
And,- God or Demon, part in peace/ — 
' Eivir,' the Shape replied, 'is mine, 
Marked in the birth-hour with my sign. 
Think'st thou that priest with drops of 

spray 
Could wash that blood-red mark away ? 
Or that a borrowed sex and name 
Can abrogate a Godhead's claim ? ' 
Thrilled this strange speech through 

Harold's brain, 
He clenched his teeth in high disdain. 
For not his new-born faith subdued 
Some tokens of his ancient mood. — 
' Now, by the hope so lately given 
Of better trust and purer heaven, 
I will assail thee, fiend ! ' — Then rose 
His mace, and with a storm of blows 
The mortal and the demon close. 



Smoke rolled above, fire flashed around. 
Darkened the sky and shook the ground ; 

But not the artillery of hell. 
The bickering lightning, nor the rock 
Of turrets to the earthquake's shock, 

Could Harold's courage quell. 
Sternly the Dane his purpose kept. 
And blows on blows resistless heaped. 

Till quailed that demon form. 
And — for his power to hurt or kill 
Was bounded by a higher will — 

Evanished in a storm. * 

Nor paused the Champion of the North, 
But raised and bore his Eivir forth 
From that wild scene of fiendish strife 
To light, to liberty, and life ! 



He placed her en a bank of moss, 

A silver runnel bubbled by, 
And new-born thoughts his soul engross. 
And tremors yet unknown across 

His stubborn sinews fly. 
The while with timid hand the dew 
Upon her brow and neck he threw. 
And marked how life with rosy hue 



On her pale cheek revived anew 

And glimmered in her eye. 
Inly he said, 'That silken tress — 
What blindness mine that could not guess ! 
Or how could page's rugged dress 

That bosom's pride belie ? 
O, dull of heart, through wild and wave 
In search of blood and death to rave, 

With such a partner nigh ! ' 



Then in the mirrored pool he peered, 
Blamed his rough locks and shaggy beard. 
The stains of recent conflict cleared, — 

And thus the Champion proved 
That he fears now who never feared, 

And loves who never loved. 
And Eivir — life is on her cheek 
And yet she will not move or speak. 

Nor will her eyelid fully ope ; 
Perchance it loves, that half-shut eye. 
Through its long fringe, reserved and shy, 
Affection's opening dawn to spy ; 
And the deep blush, which bids its dye 
O'er cheek and brow and bosom fly. 

Speaks shamefacedness and hope. 



But vainly seems the Dane to seek 

For terms his new-born love to speak, — 

For words, save those of wrath and wrong, 

Till now were strangers to his tongue ; 

So, when he raised the blushing maid, 

In blunt and honest terms he said — 

'T were well that maids, when lovers woo. 

Heard none more soft, were all as true — 

' Eivir ! since thou for many a day 

Hast followed Harold's wayward way. 

It is but meet that in the line 

Of after-life I follow thine. 

To-morrow is Saint Cuthbert's tide. 

And we will grace his altar's side, 

A Christian knight and Christian bride ; 

And of Witikind's son shall the marvel be 
said 

That on the same morn he was christened 
and wed.' 




464 



SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. 



f^arolli tije ©axintless. 



CONCLUSION. 

And now, Ennui, what ails thee, weary maid ? 
And why these listless looks of yawning sorrow ? 
No need to turn the page as if 't were lead, 
Or fling aside the volume till to-morrow. — 
Be cheered — 't is ended — and I will not borrow, 
To try thy patience more, one anecdote 
From Bartholine or Perinskiold or Snorro. 
Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who hath wrote 
A tale six cantos long, yet scorned to add a note. 








35allatis, Cranslateli or S^iutth, 

from tl^e (German, €tc» 



JlSEtlli'am antj f^den. 

IMITATED FROM THE " LENORE " OF BURGER. 

From heavy dreams fair Helen rose, 

And eyed the dawning red: 
' Alas, my love, thou tarriest long ! 

O art thou false or dead ? ' 

With gallant Frederick's princely power 
He sought the bold Crusade, 

But not a word from Judah's wars 
Told Helen how he sped. 

With Paynim and with Saracen 
At length a truce was made, 

And every knight returned to dry 
The tears his love had shed. 

Our gallant host was homeward bound 

With many a song of joy ; 
Green waved the laurel in each plume, 

The badge of victory. 

And old and young, and sire and son, 
To meet them crowd the way. 

With shouts and mirth and melody, 
The debt of love to pay. 

Full many a maid her true-love met, 

And sobbed in his embrace. 
And fluttering joy in tears and smiles 

Arrayed full many a face. 

Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad, 
She sought the host in vain; 

For none could tell her William's fate. 
If faithless or if slain. 

The martial band is past and gone ; 

She rends her raven hair, 
And in distraction's bitter mood 

She weeps with wild despair. 



' O, rise, my child,' her mother said, 

' Nor sorrow thus in vain ; 
A perjured lover's fleeting heart 

No tears recall again.' 

'O mother, what is gone is gone. 

What 's lost forever lorn : 
Death, death alone can comfort me ; 

O had I ne'er been born ! 

' O, break, my heart, O, break at once ! 

Drink my life-blood. Despair ! 
No joy remains on earth for me. 

For me in heaven no share.' 

' O, enter not in judgment, Lord ! ' 

The pious mother prays ; 
' Impute not guilt to thy frail child ! 

She knows not what she says. 

' O, say thy pater-nost'er, child ! 

O, turn to God and grace ! 
His will, that turned thy bliss to bale, 

Can change thy bale to bliss.' 

' O mother, mother, what is bliss .'' 

O mother, what is bale ? 
My William's love was heaven on earth, 

Without it earth is hell. 

'Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven, 
Since my loved William "s slain ? 

I only prayed for William's sake, 
And all my prayers were vain.' 

' O, take the sacrament, my child. 
And check these tears that flow ; 

By resignation's humble prayer, 
O, hallowed be thy woe ! ' 

' No sacrament can quench this fire, 
Or slake this scorching pain ; 

No sacrament can bid the dead 
Arise and live again. 



468 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' O, break, my heart, O, break at once ! 

Be thou my god, Despair ! 
Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me. 

And vain each fruitless prayer.' 

' O, enter not in judgment, Lord, 

With thy frail child of clay ! 
She knows not what her. tongue has spoke ; 

Impute it not, I pray ! 

' Forbear, my child, this desperate woe. 

And turn to God and grace ; 
Well can devotion's heavenly glow 

Convert thy bale to bhss.' 

' O mother, mother, what is bliss .'' 

mother, what is bale ? 

Without my William what were heaven. 
Or with him what were hell ? ' 

Wild she arraigns the eternal doom. 

Upbraids each sacred power, 
Till, spent, she sought her silent room. 

All in the lonely tower. 

She beat her breast, she wrung her hands. 

Till sun and day were o'er, 
And through the glimmering lattice shone 

The twinkling of the star. 

Then, crash ! the heavy drawbridge fell 

That o'er the moat was hung ; 
And, clatter ! clatter ! on its boards 

The hoof of courser rung. 

The clank of echoing steel was heard 

As off the rider bounded; 
And slowly on the winding stair 

A heavy footstep sounded. 

And hark ! and hark ! a knock — tap ! tap ! 

A rustling stifled noise ; — 
Door-latch and tinkling staples ring ; — 

At length a whispering voice. 

' Awake, awake, arise, my love ! 

How, Helen, dost thou fare ? 
Wak'st thou, or sleep'st? laugh 'st thou, or 
weep'st? 

Hast thought on me, my fair ? ' 

' My love ! my love ! — so late by night ! — 

1 waked, I wept for thee : 

Much have I borne since dawn of morn ; 
Where, William, couldst thou be ? ' 

'We saddle late — from Hungary 

I rode since darkness fell ; 
And to its bourne we both return 

Before the matin-bell." 



'O, rest this night within my arms. 

And warm thee in their fold ! 
Chill howls through hawthorn bush the 
wind : — 

My love is deadly cold.' 

' Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush ! 

This night we must away ; 
The steed is wight, the spur is bright ; 

I cannot stay till day. 

* Busk, busk, and boune ! Thou mount'st 
behind 

Upon my black barb steed : 
O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles. 

We haste to bridal bed.' 

' To-night — to-night a hundred miles ! — 

O dearest William, stay ! 
The bell strikes twelve — dark, dismal hour! 

O, wait, my love, till day ! ' 

' Look here, look here — the moon shines 
clear — 

Full fast I ween we ride ; 
Mount and away ! for ere the day 

We reach our bridal bed. 

' The black barb snorts, the bridle rings ; 

Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee ! 
The feast is made, the chamber spread. 

The bridal guests await thee.' 

Strong love prevailed : she busks, she 
bounes. 

She mounts the barb behind. 
And round her darling William's waist 

Her lily arms she twined. 

And, hurry ! hurry ! off they rode. 

As fast as fast might be ; 
Spurned from the courser's thundering heels 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

And on the right and on the left. 

Ere they could snatch a view. 
Fast, fast each mountain, mead, and plain, 

And cot and castle flew. 

' Sit fast — dost fear ? — The moon shines 
clear — 

Fleet goes my barb — keep hold ! 
Fear'st thou ? ' — • O no ! ' she faintly said ; 

' But why so stern and cold .'' 

' What yonder rings ? what yonder sings .' 
Why shrieks the owlet gray .*" 

' 'T is death-bells' clang, 't is funeral song, 
The body to the clay. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



469 



* With song and clang at morrow's dawn 

Ye may inter the dead : 
To-night I ride with my young bride 

To deck our bridal bed. 

' Come with thy choir, thou coffined guest, 

To swell our nuptial song ! 
Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast ! 

Come all, come all along ! ' 

Ceased clang and song ; down sunk the 
bier; 

The shrouded corpse arose : 
And hurry ! hurry ! all the train 

The thundering steed pursues. 

And forward ! forward ! on they go ; 

High snorts the straining steed; 
Thick pants the rider's laboring breath, 

As headlong on they speed. 

' O William, why this savage haste ? 

And where thy bridal bed ?' 
'■ 'T is distant far, low, damp, and chill. 

And narrow, trustless maid.' 

' No room for me .'^ ' — ' Enough for both ; — 
Speed, speed, my barb, thy course ! ' 

O'er thundering bridge, through boiling 
surge. 
He drove the furious horse. 

Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode, 
Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 

The scourge is wight, the spur is bright. 
The flashing pebbles flee. 

Fled past on right and left how fast 
Each forest, grove, and bower ! 

On right and left fled past how fast 
Each city, town, and tower ! 

'Dost fear.'' dost fear? The moon shines 
clear. 

Dost fear to ride with me "i — 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! the dead can ride ! ' — 

' O William, let them be ! — 

' See there, see there ! What yonder swings 
And creaks mid whistling rain ? " — 

' Gibbet and steel, the accursed wheel ; 
A murderer in his chain. — 

' Hollo ! thou felon, follow here : 

To bridal bed we ride ; 
And thou shalt prance a fetter dance 

Before me and my bride.' 

And, hurry ! hurry ! clash, clash, clash I 

The wasted form descends ; 
And fleet as wind through hazel bush 

The wild career attends. 



Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode, 
Splash ! splash ! along the sea : 

The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, 
The flashing pebbles flee. 

How fled what moonshine faintly showed ! 

How fled what darkness hid ! 
How fled the earth beneath their feet. 

The heaven above their head ! 

' Dost fear ? dost fear ? The moon shines 
clear, 

And well the dead can ride ; 
Dost faithful Helen fear for them ? ' — 

' O leave in peace the dead I ' ■ — 

' Barb ! Barb ! methinks I hear the cock : 

The sand will soon be run : 
Barb ! Barb ! I smell the morning air : 

The race is well-nigh done.' 

Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode. 
Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 

The scourge is red, the spur drops blood. 
The flashing pebbles flee. 

' Hurrah ! hurrah ! well ride the dead ; 

The bride, the bride is come ; 
And soon we reach the bridal bed, 

F^or, Helen, here 's my home." 

Reluctant on its rusty hinge 

Revolved an iron door. 
And by the pale moon's setting beam 

Were seen a church and tower. 

With many a shriek and cry whiz round 
The birds of midnight scared; 

And rustling like autumnal leaves 
Unhallowed ghosts were heard. 

O'er many a tomb and tombstone pale 

He spurred the fiery horse. 
Till sudden at an open grave 

He checked the wondrous course. 

The falling gauntlet quits the rein, 
Down drops the casque of steel, 

The cuirass leaves his shrinking side. 
The spur his gory heel. 

The eyes desert the naked skull. 
The mouldering flesh the bone. 

Till Helen's lily arms entwine 
A ghastly skeleton. 

The furious barb snorts fire and foam. 

And with a fearful bound 
Dissolves at once in empty air. 

And leaves her on the ground. 



470 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Half seen by fits, by fits half heard, 

Pale spectres flit along. 
Wheel round the maid in dismal dance, 

And howl the funeral song ; 

' E'en when the heart's with anguish cleft. 

Revere the doom of Heaven, 
Her soul is from her body reft ; 

Her spirit be forgiven ! ' 



SEfje raii'llJ f^untsman. 

IMITATED KROM BURGEK's " WILDE JAGER." 

The Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn, 
To horse, to horse ! halloo, halloo ! 

His fiery courser snuffs the morn. 

And thronging serfs their lord pursue. 

The eager pack from couples freed 

Dash through the bush, the brier, the 
brake ; 

While answering hound and horn and steed 
The mountain echoes startling wake. 

The beams of God's own hallowed day 
Had painted yonder spire with gold. 

And, calling sinful man to pray. 

Loud, long, and deep the bell had tolled : 

But still the Wildgrave onward rides ; 

Halloo, halloo ! and, hark again ! 
When, spurring from opposing sides, 

Two stranger horsemen join the train. 

Who was each stranger, left and right, 
Well may I guess, but dare not tell ; 

The right-hand steed was silver white, 
Theleft the swarthy hue of hell. 

The right-hand horseman, young and fair. 

His smile was like the morn of May ; 
The left from eye of tawny glare 

Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. 

He waved his huntsman's cap on high. 
Cried, ' Welcome, welcome, noble lord ! 

What sport can earth, or sea, or sky. 
To match the princely chase, afford ? " 

' Cease thy loud bugle's changing knell,' 
Cried the fair youth with silver voice; 

' And for devotion's choral swell 

Exchange the rude unhallowed noise. 



' To-day the ill-omened chase forbear, 
Yon bell yet summons to the fane ; 

To-day the Warning Spirit hear, 

To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain." 

' Away, and sweep the glades along ! ' 
The sable hunter hoarse replies ; 

' To muttering monks leave matin-song. 
And bells and books and mysteries.' 

The Wildgrave spurred his ardent steed. 

And, launching forward with a bound, 
' Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede. 

Would leave the jovial horn and hound ? 

" Hence, if our manly sport offend ! 

With pious fools go chant and pray : — 
Well hast thou spoke, my dark-browed 
friend ; 

Halloo, halloo ! and hark away ! ' 

The Wildgrave spurred his courser light, 
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill; 

And on the left and on the right. 

Each stranger horseman followed still. 

Up springs from yonder tangled thorn 
A stag more white than mountain snow ; 

And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn, 
' Hark forward, forward ! holla, ho ! ' 

A heedless wretch has crossed the way ; 

He gasps the thundering hoofs below ; — 
But live who can, or die who may, 

Still, ' Forward, forward ! ' on they go. 

See, where yon simple fences meet, 

A field with autumn's blessings crowned ; 

See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet, 
A husbandman with toil embrowned : 

' O mercy, mercy, noble lord ! 

Spare the poor's pittance,' was his cry. 
' Earned by the sweat these brows have 
poured 

In scorching hour of fierce July.' 

Earnest the right-hand stranger pleads. 

The left still cheering to the prey; 
The impetuous Earl no warning heeds, 

But furious holds the onward way. 

' Away, thou hound so basely born. 
Or dread the scourge's echoing blow ! ' 

Then loudly rung his bugle-horn, 
' Hark forward, forward ! holla, ho ! ' 

So said, so done : — A single bound 
Clears the poor laborer's humble pale ; 

Wild follows man and horse and hound, 
Like dark December's stormy gale. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



471 



And man and horse, and hound and horn, 
Destructive sweep the field along: 

While, joying o'er the wasted corn, 

Fell Famine marks the maddening throng. 

Again uproused the timorous prey 

Scours moss and moor, and holt and hill ; 

Hard run, he feels his strength decay, 
And trusts for life his simple skill. 

Too dangerous solitude appeared ; 

He seeks the shelter of the crowd; 
Amid the flock's domestic herd 

His harmless head he hopes to shroud. 

O'er moss and moor, and holt and hill, 
His track the steady blood-hounds trace ; 

O'er moss and moor, unwearied still. 
The furious Earl pursues the chase. 

Full lowly did the herdsman fall : 
' O spare, thou noble baron, spare 

These herds, a widow's little all; 

These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care I " 

Earnest the right-hand stranger pleads. 

The left still cheering to the prey ; 
The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds, 

But furious keeps the onward way. 

' Unmannered dog ! To stop my sport 
Vain were thy cant and beggar whine. 

Though human spirits of thy sort 
Were tenants of these carrion kine ! ' 

Again he winds his bugle-horn, 

' Hark forward, forward, holla, ho ! ' 

And through the herd in ruthless scorn 
He cheers his furious hounds to go. 

In heaps the throttled victims fall; 

Down sinks their mangled herdsman near ; 
The murderous cries the stag appall, — 

Again he starts, new-nerved by fear. 

With blood besmeared and white with foam. 
While big the tears of anguish pour. 

He seeks amid the forest's gloom 
The humble hermit's hallowed bower. 

But man and horse, and horn and hound, 

Fast rattling on his traces go ; 
The sacred chapel rung around 

With, ' Hark away ! and, holla, ho ! ' 

All mild, amid the rout profane, 

The holy hermit poured his prayer; 

' Forbear with blood God's house to stain ; 
Revere His altar and forbear ! 



' The meanest brute has rights to plead, 
Which, wronged by cruelty or pride. 

Draw vengeance on the ruthless head : — 
Be warned at length and turn aside.' 

Still the fair horseman anxious pleads ; 

The black, wild whooping, points the 
prey : — 
Alas ! the Earl no warning heeds. 

But frantic keeps the forward way. 

' Holy or not, or right or wrong, 
Thy altar and its rites 1 spurn ; 

Not sainted martyrs' sacred song. 

Not God himself shall make me turn ! ' 

He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, 
' Hark forward, forward, holla, ho ! ' 

But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne, 
The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. 

And horse and man, and horn and hound. 
And clamor of the chase, was gone ; 

For hoofs and howls and bugle-sound, 
A deadly silence reigned alone. 

Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around ; 

He strove in vain to wake his horn, 
In vain to call ; for not a sound 

Could from his anxious lips be borne. 

He listens for his trusty hounds. 
No distant baying reached his ears ; 

His courser, rooted to the ground. 

The quickening spur unmindful bears. 

Still dark and darker frown the shades. 
Dark as the darkness of the grave ; 

And not a sound the still invades. 
Save what a distant torrent gave. 

High o'er the sinner's humbled head 
At length the solemn silence broke ; 

And from a cloud of swarthy red 
The awful voice of thunder spoke. 

' Oppressor of creation fair ! 

Apostate Spirits' hardened tool ! 
Scorner of God ! Scourge of the poor ! 

The measure of thy cup is full. 

' Be chased forever through the wood. 
Forever roam the affrighted wild ; 

And let thy fate instruct the proud, 
God's meanest creature is His child.' 

'T was hushed : — One flash of sombre 
glare 

With yellow tinged the forests brown; ' 
Uprose the Wildgrave's bristling hair, 

And horror chilled each nerve and bone. 



472 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Cold poured the sweat in freezing rill : 

A rising wind began to sing, 
And louder, louder, louder still, 

Brought storm and tempest on its wing. 

Earth heard the call ; — her entrails rend ; 

From yawning rifts, with many a yell. 
Mixed with sulphureous flames, ascend 

The misbegotten dogs of hell. 

What ghastly huntsman next arose 
Well may I guess, but dare not tell ; 

His eye like midnight lightning glows. 
His steed the swarthy hue of hell. 

The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn 
With many a shriek of helpless woe ; 

Behind him hound and horse and horn, 
And, ' Hark away, and holla, ho ! ' 

With wild despair's reverted eye. 

Close, close behind, he marks the throng, 

With bloody fangs and eager cry ; 
In frantic fear he scours along. — 

Still, still shall last the dreadful chase 
Till time itself shall have an end ; 

By day they scour earth's caverned space, 
At midnight's witching hour ascend. 

This is the horn and hound and horse 
That oft the lated peasant hears ; 

Appalled he signs the frequent cross. 
When the wild din invades his ears. 

The wakeful priest oft drops a tear 
For human pride, for human woe. 

When at his midnight mass he hears 
The infernal cry of ' Holla, ho ! ' 



W^t JFire=lAtng. 

The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curses, were 
upon him. — Eastern Tale. 

Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp 

give an ear. 
Of love and of war and of wonder to hear ; 
And you haply may sigh in the midst of 

your glee 
At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie. 



O, see you that castle, so strong and so 

high? 
And see you that lady, the tear in her eye ? 



And see you that palmer from Palestine's 

land. 
The shell on his hat and the staff in his 

hand ? — 

• Now, palmer, gray palmer, O, tell unto me, 
What news bring you home from the Holy 

Countrie .'* 
And how goes the warfare by Galilee's 

strand ? 
And how fare our nobles, the flower of the 

land } ' 

' O, well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave, 
For Gilead and Nablous and Ramah we 

have ; 
And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon, 
For the heathen have lost and the Christians 

have won.' 

A fair chain of gold mid her ringlets there 

hung ; 
O'er the palmer's gray locks the fair chain 

has she flung : 
' O palmer, gray palmer, this chain be thy 

fee 
For the news thou hast brought from the 

Holy Countrie. 

• And, palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's 

wave, 

O, saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and 
brave ? 

When the Crescent went back and the Red- 
cross rushed on, 

O, saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon ?' 

' O lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows ; 
O lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows ; 
Your castle stands strong and your hopes 

soar on high ; 
But, lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die. 

• The green boughs they wither, the thun- 

derbolt falls. 

It leaves of your castle but levin-scorched 
walls ; 

The pure stream runs muddy ; the gay hope 
is gone ; 

Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Leb- 
anon.' 

O, she 's ta'en a horse should be fleet at 

her speed ; 
And she 's ta'en a sword should be sharp 

at her need ; 
And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's 

land. 
To ransom Count Albert from Soldanrie's 

hand. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



473 



Small thought had Count Albert on fair 
Rosalie, 

Small thought on his faith or his knight- 
hood had he : 

A heathenish damsel his light heart had 
won, 

The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount 
Lebanon. 

' O Christian, brave Christian, my love 

vvouldst thou be. 
Three things must thou do ere I hearken 

to thee : 
Our laws and our worship on thee shalt 

thou take ; 
And this thou shalt first do for Zulema's 

sake. 

' And next, in the cavern where burns ever- 
more 

The mystical flame which the Curdmans 
adore, 

Alone and in silence three nights shalt thou 
wake ; 

And this thou shalt next do for Zulema's 
sake. 

' And last, thou shalt aid us with counsel 

and hand. 
To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's 

land ; 
For my lord and my love then Count Albert 

I '11 take, 
When all this is accomplished for Zulema's 

sake.' 

He has thrown by his helmet and cross- 
handled sword, 

Renouncing his knighthood, denying his 
Lord ; 

He has ta'en the green caftan, and turban 
put on. 

For the love of the maiden of fair Lebanon. 

And in the dread cavern, deep deep under 

ground. 
Which fifty steel gates and steel portals 

surround. 
He has watched until daybreak, but sight 

saw he none. 
Save the flame burning bright on its altar 

& to 

of stone. 

Amazed ■ was the Princess, the Soldan 

amazed. 
Sore murmured the priests as on Albert 

they gazed ; 
They searched all his garments, and under 

his weeds 
They found and took from him his rosary 

beads. 



Again in the cavern, deep deep under 

ground. 
He watched the lone night, while the winds 

whistled round ; 
Far off was their murmur, it came not more 

nigh. 
The flame burned unmoved and naught 

else did he spy. 

Loud murmured the priests and amazed 

was the king, 
While many dark spells of their witchcraft 

they sing; 
They searched Albert's body, and, lo ! on 

his breast 
Was the sign of the Cross by his father 

impressed. 

The priests they erase it with care and 
with pain, 

And the recreant returned to the cavern 
again ; 

But as he descended a whisper there fell: 

It was his good angel, who bade him fare- 
well ! 

High bristled his hair, his heart fluttered 

and beat. 
And he turned him five steps, half resolved 

to retreat ; 
But his heart it was hardened, his purpose 

was gone. 
When he thought of the maiden of fair 

Lebanon. 

Scarce passed he the archway, the threshold 

scarce trode. 
When the winds from the four points of 

heaven were abroad. 
They made each steel portal to rattle and 

ring, 
And borne on the blast came the dread 

Fire-King. 

Full sore rocked the cavern whene'er he 
drew nigh. 

The fire on the altar blazed bickering and 
high ; 

In volcanic explosions the mountains pro- 
claim 

The dreadful approach of the Monarch of 
Flame. 

Unmeasured in height, undistinguished in 

form. 
His breath it was lightning, his voice it was 

storm ; 
I ween the stout heart of Count Albert was 

tame, 
When he saw in his terrors the Monarch 

of Flame. 



474 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



In his hand a broad falchion blue-glimmered 

through smoke, 
And Mount Lebanon shook as the monarch 

he spoke : 
' With this brand shalt thou conquer, thus 

long and no more, 
Till thou bend to the Cross and the Virgin 

adore.' 

The cloud-shrouded arm gives the weapon ; 

and see ! 
The recreant receives the charmed gift on 

his knee : 
The thunders growl distant and faint gleam 

the fires, 
As, borne on the whirlwind, the phantom 

retires. 

Count Albert has armed him the Paynim 

among. 
Though his heart it was false, yet his arm 

it was strong ; 
And the Red-cross waxed faint and the 

Crescent came on. 
From the day he commanded on Mount 

Lebanon. 

From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave. 
The sands of Samaar drank the blood of 

the brave ; 
Till the Knights of the Temple and Knights 

of Saint John, 
With Salem's King Baldwin, against him 

came on. 

The war-cymbals clattered, the trumpets 

replied, 
The lances were couched, and they closed 

on each side ; 
And horseman and horses Count Albert 

o'erthrew, 
Till he pierced the thick tumult King 

Baldwin unto. 

Against the charmed blade which Count 

Albert did wield. 
The fence had been vain of the king's 

Red-cross shield ; 
But a page thrust him forward the monarch 

before. 
And cleft tire proud turban the renegade 

wore. 

So fell was the dint that Count Albert 
stooped low 

Before the crossed shield to his steel 
saddlebow ; 

And scarce had he bent to the Red-cross 
his head, — 

' Bonne Grace, Notre Dame I ' he unwit- 
tingly said. 



Sore sighed the charmed sword, for its 

virtue was o'er. 
It sprung from his grasp and was never 

seen more ; 
But true men have said that the lightning's 

red wing 
Did waft back the brand to the dread 

Fire-King. 

He clenched his set teeth and his gaunt- 
leted hand ; 

He stretched with one buffet that page on 
the strand : 

As back from the stripling the broken 
casque rolled. 

You might see the blue eyes and the ring- 
lets of gold. 

Short time had Count Albert in horror to 

stare 
On those death-swimming eyeballs and 

blood-clotted hair ; 
For down came the Templars, like Cedron 

in flood, 
And dyed their long lances in Saracen 

blood. 

The Saracens, Curdmans, and Ishmaelites 

yield 
To the scallop, the saltier, and crossleted 

shield ; 
I the e _ 

del dead 
From Bethsaida's fountains to Naphthali's 

head. 

The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain. — 
O, who is yon Paynim lies stretched mid 

the slain.'' 
And who is yon page lying cold at his 

knee .'' — 
O, who but Count Albert and fair Rosalie? 

The lady was buried in Salem's blest 
bound, 

The count he was left to the vulture and 
hound : 

Her soul to high mercy Our Lady did 
bring ; 

His went on the blast to the dread Fire- 
King. 

Yet many a minstrel in harping can tell 

How the Red-cross it conquered, the Cres- 
cent it fell : 

And lords and gay ladies have sighed mid 
their glee 

\X. the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



475 



• Jretjericfe anli ^Itce. 

Frederick leaves the land of France, 
Homeward hastes his steps to measure, 

Careless casts the parting glance 
On the scene of former pleasure. 

Joying in his prancing steed, 

Keen to prove his untried blade, 

Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead 
Over mountain, moor, and glade. 

Helpless, ruined, left forlorn, 

Lovely Alice wept alone. 
Mourned o'er love's fond contract torn, 

Hope and peace and honor flown. 

Mark her breast's convulsive throbs ! 

See, the tear of anguish flows ! — 
Mingling soon with bursting sobs. 

Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. 

Wild she cursed and wild she prayed ; 

Seven long days and nights are o'er ; 
Death in pity brought his aid, 

As the village bell struck four. 

Far from her and far from France, 
Faithless Frederick onward rides ; 

Marking blithe the morning's glance 
Mantling o'er the mountains' sides. 

Heard ye not the boding sound. 
As the tongue of yonder tower 

Slowly to the hills around 

Told the fourth, the fated hour ? 

Starts the steed and snuffs the air, 
Yet no cause of dread appears ; 

Bristles high the rider's hair, 

Struck with strange mysterious fears. 

Desperate, as his terrors rise, 
In the steed the spur he hides ; 

From himself in vain he flies ; 
Anxious, restless, on he rides. 

Seven long days and seven long nights. 
Wild he wandered, woe the while ! 

Ceaseless care and causeless fright 
Urge his footsteps many a mile. 

Dark the seventh sad night descends ; 

Rivers swell and rain-streams pour. 
While the deafening thunder lends 

All the terrors of its roar. 

Weary, wet, and spent with toil, 

Where his head shall Frederick hide? 

Where but in yon ruined aisle, 
By the lightning's flash descried. 



To the portal, dank and low, 

Fast his steed the wanderer bound : 

Down a ruined staircase slow 

Next his darkling way he wound. 

Long drear vaults before him lie ! 

Glimmering lights are seen to glide ! - 
' Blessed Mary, hear my cry ! 

Deign a sinner's steps to guide ! ' 

Often lost their quivering beam, 
Still the lights move slow before. 

Till they rest their ghastly gleam 
Right against an iron door. 

Thundering voices from within. 
Mixed with peals of laughter, rose ; 

As they fell, a solemn strain 

Lent its wild and wondrous close ! 

Midst the din he seemed to hear 

Voice of friends by death removed ; - 

Well he knew that solemn air, 

'T was the lay that Alice loved. — 

Hark ! for now a solemn knell 

Four times on the still night broke ; 

Four times at its deadened swell 
Echoes from the ruins spoke. 

As the lengthened clangors die. 

Slowly opes the iron door ! 
Straight a banquet met his eye. 

But a funeral's form it wore ! 

Cofiins for the seats extend : 

All with black the board was spread ; 
Girt by parent, brother, friend. 

Long since numbered with the dead ! 

Alice, Jn her grave-clothes bound, 
Ghastly smiling, points a seat ; 

All arose with thundering sound; 
All the expected stranger greet. 

High their meagre arms they wave. 
Wild their notes of welcome swell ; — 

' Welcome, traitor, to the grave ! 
Perjured, bid the light farewell ! ' 



QTfje Battle of Sempac]^. 

'T WAS when among our linden-trees 
The bees had housed in swarms — 

And gray-haired peasants say that these 
Betoken foreisn arms — 



476 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Then looked we down to Willisow, 

The land was all in flame ; 
We knew the Archduke Leopold 

With all his army came. 

The Austrian nobles made their vow, 
So hot their heart and bold, 

• On Switzer carles we "11 trample now, 

And slay both young and old.' 

With clarion loud and banner proud. 

From Zurich on the lake. 
In martial pomp and fair array 

Their onward march they make. 

' Now list, ye lowland nobles all — 

Ye seek the mountain-strand. 
Nor wot ye what shall be your lot 

In such a dangerous land. 

' I rede ye, shrive ye of your sins 

Before ye farther go ; 
A skirmish in Helvetian hills 

May send your souls to woe.' 

' But where now shall we find a priest 
Our shrift that he may hear ? ' — 

' The Switzer priest has ta'en the field, 
He deals a penance drear. 

' Right heavily upon your head 

He '11 lay his hand of steel, 
And with his trusty partisan 

Your absolution deal.' 

'Twas on a Monday morning then. 

The corn was steeped in dew. 
And merry maids had sickles ta'en. 

When the host to Sempach drew. 

The stalwart men of fair Lucerne, 

Together have they joined ; 
The pith and core of manhood stern, 

Was none cast looks behind. 

it was the Lord of Hare-castle, 

And to the Duke he said, 
' Yon little band of brethren true 

Will meet us undismayed.' — 

' O Hare-castle, thou heart of hare ! ' 
Fierce Oxenstern replied. — • 

• Shalt sec then how the game will fare," 

The taunted knight replied. 

There was lacing then of helmets bright. 

And closing ranks amain ; 
The peaks they hewed from their boot- 
points 

j\li<rht well-nigh load a wain. 



And thus they to each other said, 

' Yon handful down to hew 
Will be no boastful tale to tell. 

The peasants are so few.' 

The gallant Swiss Confederates there, 

They prayed to God aloud, 
And he displayed his rainbow fair " 

Against a swarthy cloud. 

Then heart and pulse throbbed more and 
more 

With courage firm and high, 
And down the good Confederates bore 

On the Austrian chivalry. 

The Austrian Lion 'gan to growl 

And toss his main and tail. 
And ball and shaft and crossbow bolt 

Went whistling forth like hail. 

Lance, pike, and halbert mingled there, 
The game was nothing sweet ; 

The boughs of many a stately tree 
Lay shivered at their feet. 

The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast, 
So close their spears they laid ; 

It chafed the gallant Winkelreid, 
Who to his comrades said — ■ 

' I have a virtuous wife at home, 

A wife and infant son ; 
I leave them to my country's care, — 

This field shall soon be won. 

• These nobles lay their spears right thick 

And keep full firm array. 
Yet shall my charge their order break 

And make my brethren way.' 

He rushed against the Austrian band. 

In desperate career. 
And with his body, breast, and hand, 

Bore down each hostile spear. 

Four lances splintered on his crest, 

Six shivered in his side ; 
Still on the serried files he pressed — 

He broke their ranks and died. 

This patriot's self-devoted deed 

First tamed the Lion's mood. 
And the four Forest Cantons freed 

From thraldom by his blood. 

Riglit where his charge had made a lane 

His valiant comrades burst. 
With sword and axe and partisan, 

And hack and stab and thrust. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



477 



The daunted Lion 'gan to whine 

And granted ground amain, 
The Mountain Bull he bent his brows, 

And gored his sides again. 

Then lost was banner, spear, and shield 

At Sempach in the flight, 
The cloister vaults at Konig's-field 

Hold many an Austrian knight. 

It was the Archduke Leopold, 

So lordly would he ride, 
But he came against the Switzer churls, 

And they slew him in his pride. 

The heifer said unto the bull, 

' And shall I not complain ? 
There came a foreign nobleman 

To milk me on the plain. 

' One thrust of thine outrageous horn 
Has galled the knight so sore 

That to the churchyard he is borne, 
To range our glens no more.' 

An Austrian noble left the stour, 
And fast the flight 'gan take ; 

And he arrived in luckless hour 
At Sempach on the lake. 

He and his squire a fisher called — 
His name was Hans von Rot — 

' For love or meed or charity, 
Receive us in thy boat ! ' 

Their anxious call the fisher heard. 

And, glad the meed to win. 
His shallop to the shore he steered 

And took the flyers in. 

And while against the tide and wind 

Hans stoutly rowed his way. 
The noble to his follower signed 

He should the boatman slay. 

The fisher's back was to them turned, 

The squire his dagger drew, 
Hans saw his shadow in the lake. 

The boat he overthrew. 

He whelmed the boat, and as they strove 
He stunned them with his oar. 

* Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs. 
You '11 ne'er stab boatman more. 

' Two gilded fishes in the lake 

This morning have I caught, 
Their silver scales may much avail, 

Their carrion flesh is naught.' 



It was a messenger of woe 

Has sought the Austrian land : 
' Ah ! gracious lady, evil news ! 
• My lord lies on the strand. 

'At Sempach, on the battle-field. 
His bloody corpse lies there." — 

' Ah, gracious God ! ' the lady cried, 
' What tidings of despair ! ' 

Now would you know the minstrel wight 
\VIio sings of strife so stern, 

Albert the Souter is he hight, 
A burgher of Lucerne. 

A merry man was he, I wot, 

The night he made the lay, 
Returning from the bloody spot 

Where God had judged the day. 



STfjE Noble fHoringer. 

AN AXCIENT BALLAD. 



o, 



WILL you hear a knightly tale of old 

Bohemian day. 
It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed 

he lay : 
He halsed and kissed his dearest dame 

that was as sweet as May, 
And said, ' Now, lady of my heart, attend 

the words I say. 

' 'T is I have vowed a pilgrimage unto a 

distant shrine, 
And I must seek Saint Thomas-land and 

leave the land that 's mine ; 
Here shalt thou dwell the while in state, 

so thou wilt pledge thy fay 
That thou for my return wilt wait seven 

twelvemonths and a day.' 

Then out and spoke that lady bright, sore 

troubled in her cheer, 
' Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what 

order takest thou here ; 
And who shall lead thy vassal band and 

hold thy lordly sway, 
And be thy lady's guardian true when thou 

art far away ? ' 

Out spoke the noble Moringer, 'Of that 

have thou no care. 
There's many a valiant gentleman of me 

holds living fair ; 



478 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals, 

and my state, 
And be a guardian tried and true to thee, 

my lovely mate. 

'As Christian-man, I needs must keep the 

vow which I have plight. 
When I am far in foreign land, remember 

thy true knight ; 
And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for 

vain were sorrow now, 
But grant thy Moringer his leave, since God 

hath heard his vow.' 

It was the noble Moringer from bed he 

made him boune, 
And met him there his chamberlain with 

ewer and with gown : 
He flung the mantle on his back, 't was 

furred with miniver, 
He dipped his hand in water cold and 

bathed his forehead fair. 

' Now hear,' he said, ' Sir Chamberlain, true 

vassal art thou mine, 
And such the trust that I repose in that 

proved worth of thine, 
For seven years shalt thou rule my towers 

and lead my vassal train. 
And pledge thee for my lady's faith till I 

return again.' 

The chamberlain was blunt and true, and 

sturdily said he, 
'Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and 

take this rede from me ; 
That woman's faith 's a brittle trust — Seven 

twelvemonths didst thou say? 
I '11 pledge me for no lady's truth beyond 

the seventh fair day.' 

The noble baron turned him round, his 

heart was full of care. 
His gallant esquire stood him nigh, he was 

Marstetten's heir. 
To whom he spoke right anxiously, ' Thou 

trusty squire to me. 
Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when 

I am o'er the sea ? 

' To watch and ward my castle strong, and 

to protect my land. 
And to the hunting or the host to lead my 

vassal band ; 
And pledge thee for my lady's faith till seven 

long years are gone, 
And guard her as Our Lady dear was 

guarded by Saint John.' 



Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but 
fiery, hot, and young. 

And readily he answer made with too pre- 
sumptuous tongue : 

' My noble lord, cast care away and on your 
journey wend. 

And trust this charge to me until your pil- 
grimage have end. 

'Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall 

be truly tried. 
To guard your lands, and ward your towers, 

and with your vassals ride ; 
And for your lovely lady's faith, so virtuous 

and so dear, 
I '11 gage my head it knows no change, be 

absent thirty year.' 

The noble Moringer took cheer when thus 
he heard him speak, 

And doubt forsook his troubled brow and 
sorrow left his cheek ; 

A long adieu he bids to all — hoists top- 
sails and away, 

And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven 
twelvemonths and a da}-. 

It was the noble Moringer within an orchard 

slept, 
When on the baron's slumbering sense a 

boding vision crept ; 
And whispered in his ear a voice, ' 'T is 

time, Sir Knight, to wake. 
Thy lady and thy heritage another master 

take. 

' Thy tower another banner knows, thy 
steeds another rein, 

And stoop them to another's will thy gal- 
lant vassal train ; 

And she, the lady of thy love, so faithful 
once and fair. 

This night within thy fathers' hall she weds 
Marstetten's heir.' 

It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears 

his beard, 
' O, would that I had ne'er been born ! 

what tidings have I heard ! 
To lose my lordship and my lands the less 

would be my care. 
But, God ! that e'er a squire untrue should 

wed my lady fair. 

' O good Saint Thomas, hear,' he prayed, 

'my patron saint art thou, 
A traitor robs me of my land even while I 

pay my vow ! 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



479 



My wife he brings to infamy that was so 
pure of name, 

And I am far in foreign land and must en- 
dure the shame.' 

It was the good Saint Thomas then who 
heard his pilgrim's prayer, 

And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it 
o'erpowered his care; 

He waked in fair Bohemian land out- 
stretched beside a rill. 

High on the right a castle stood, low on 
the left a mill. 

The Moringer he started up as one from 

spell unbound, 
And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed 

wildly all around ; 
' I know my fathers' ancient towers, the 

mill, the stream I know, 
Now blessed be my patron saint who 

cheered his pilgrim's woe ! ' 

He leant upon his pilgrim staff and to the 

mill he drew. 
So altered was his goodly form that none 

their master knew ; 
The baron to the miller said, ' Good friend, 

for charity, 
Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings 

may there be? ' 

The miller answered him again, 'He knew 

of little news, 
Save that the lady of the land did a new 

bridegroom choose ; 
Her husband died in distant land, such is 

the constant word. 
His death sits heavy on our souls, he was 

a worthy lord. 

' Of him I held the little mill which wins 

me living free, 
God rest the baron in his grave, he still was 

kind to me ! 
And when Saint Martin's tide comes round 

and millers take their toll. 
The priest that prays for Moringer shall 

have both cope and stole.' 

It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill 

began. 
And stood before the bolted gate a woe 

and weary man ; 
' Now help me, every saint in heaven that 

can compassion take. 
To gain the entrance of my hall this woful 

match to break.' 



His very knock it sounded sad, his call was 

sad and slow. 
For heart and head, and voice and hand, 

were heavy all with woe ; 
And to the warder thus he spoke : ' Friend, 

to thy lady say, 
A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves 

harbor for a day. 

' I Ve wandered many a weary step, my 
strength is well-nigh done, 

And if she turn me from her gate I '11 see 
no morrow's sun ; 

I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, a 
pilgrim's bed and dole, 

And for the sake of Moringer's, her once- 
loved husband's soul.' 

It was the stalwart warder then he came 

his dame before, 
'A pilgrim, worn and travel-toiled, stands 

at the castle-door ; 
And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, 

for harbor and for dole, 
And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble 

husband's soul.' 

The lady's gentle heart was moved, ' Do up 
the gate,' she said, 

' And bid the wanderer welcome be to ban- 
quet and to bed ; 

And since he names my husband's name, 
so that he lists to stay, 

These towers shall be his harborage a 
twelvemonth and a day.' 

It was the stalwart warder then undid the 

portal broad. 
It was the noble Moringer that o'er the 

threshold strode ; 
' And have thou thanks, kind Heaven,' he 

said, ' though from a man of sin. 
That the true lord stands here once more 

his castle-gate within.' 

Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step 

was sad and slow ; 
It sat full heavy on his heart none seemed 

their lord to know ; 
He sat him on a lowly bench, oppressed 

with woe and wrong. 
Short space he sat. but ne'er to him seemed 

little space so long. 

Now spent was day and feasting o'er, and 

come was evening hour. 
The time was nigh when new-made brides 

retire to nuptial bower ; 



48o 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' Our castle's wont,' a bridesman said, ' hath 

been both iirm and long 
No gviest to harbor in our halls till he shall 

chant a song.' 

Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there 
as he sat by the bride, 

' My merry minstrel folk,' quoth he, ' lay 
shalm and harp aside ; 

Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the cas- 
tle's rule to hold, 

And well his guerdon will I pay with gar- 
ment and with gold.' 

' Chill flows the lay of frozen age,' 't was 

thus the pilgrim sung, 
' Nor golden meed nor garment gay unlocks 

his heavy tongue ; , 
Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at 

board as rich as thine. 
And by my side as fair a bride with all her 

charms was mine. 

' But time traced furrows on my face and I 

grew silver-haired. 
For locks of brown and cheeks of youth 

she left this brow and beard ; 
Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread 

life's latest stage. 
And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay 

of frozen age.' 

It was the noble lady there this woful lay 

that hears. 
And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye 

was dimmed with tears; 
She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden 

beaker take, 
And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it 

for her sake. 

It was the noble Moringer that dropped 

amid the wine 
A bridal ring of burning gold so costly and 

so fine : 
Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you 

but the sooth, 
'Twas with that very ring of gold he 

pledged his bridal truth. 

Then to the cupbearer he said, ' Do me 

one kindly deed. 
And should my better days return, full rich 

shall be thy meed ; 
Bear back the golden cup again to yonder 

bride so gay. 
And crave her of her courtesy to pledge 

the palmer gray.' 



The cupbearer was courtly bred nor was 

the boon denied, 
The golden cup he took again and bore it 

to the bride ; 
• Lady,' he said, ' your reverend guest sends 

this, and bids me pray 
That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge 

the palmer gray.' 

The ring hath caught the lady's eye, she 

views it close and near. 
Then might you hear her shriek aloud, 

' The Moringer is here ! ' 
Then might you see her start from seat 

while tears in torrents fell. 
But whether 'twas for joy or woe the ladies 

best can tell. 

But loud she uttered thanks to Heaven and 

every saintly power 
That had returned the Moringer before the 

midnight hour ; 
And loud she uttered vow on vow that 

never was there bride 
That had like her preserved her troth or 

been so sorely tried. 

' Yes, here I claim the praise,' she said, ' to 

constant matrons due, 
Who keep the troth that they have plight 

so steadfastly and true ; 
For count the term howe'er you will, so 

that you count aright, 
Seven twelvemonths and a day are out 

when bells toll twelve to-night.' 

It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion 

there he drew, 
He kneeled before the Moringer and down 

his weapon threw; 
' My oath and knightly faith are broke,' 

these were the words he said, 
' Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, 

and take thy vassal's head.' 

The noble Moringer he smiled, and then 

aloud did say, 
' He gathers wisdom that hath roamed 

seven twelvemonths and a day ; 
My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame 

speaks her sweet and fair, 
I give her for the bride you lose and name 

her for my heir. 

' The young bridegroom hath youthful 
bride, the old bridegroom the old. 

Whose faith was kept till term and tide so 
punctually were told ; 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



481 



But blessings on the warder kind that oped 

my castle gate, 
For had I come at morrow tide I came a 

day too late.' 



2CIjE !Erl-33ting. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 

O, WHO rides by night'thro' the woodland 

so wild ? 
It is the fond father embracing his child : 
And close the boy nestles within his loved 

arm, 
To hold himself fast and to keep himself 

warm. 

' O father, see yonder ! see yonder ! ' he 

says ; 
' My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully 

gaze ? ' — 
' O, 't is the Erl-King with his crown and 

his shroud.' — 
'■ No, my son, it is but a dark wreath of the 

cloud.' 

( The Erl-King speaks.) 

' O. come and go with me, thou loveliest 
child ; 

By many a gay sport shall thy time be be- 
guiled ; 

My mother keeps for thee full many a fair 
toy. 

And many a fine flower shall she pluck for 
my boy.' 

* O father, my father, and did you not hear 
The Erl-King whisper so low in my 
ear ? ' — 



'Be still, my heart's darling — my child, 

be at ease ; 
It was but the wild blast as it sung thro' 

the trees.' 

Erl-King. 

' O, wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest 

boy? 
My daughter shall tend thee with care and 

with joy ; 
She shall bear thee so lightly thro' wet and 

thro' wild, 
And press thee and kiss thee and sing to 

my child.' 

' O, father, my father, and saw you not 

plain. 
The Erl-King's pale daughter glide past 

through the rain ? ' — 
' O yes, my loved treasure, I knew it full 

soon ; 
It was the gray willow that danced to the 

moon.' 

Erl-King. 

' O, come and go with me, no longer delay. 
Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away.' -- 
' O father ! O father ! now, now keep your 

hold. 
The Erl-King has seized me — his grasp is 

so cold ! ' 

Sore trembled the father ; he spurred thro' 

the wild, 
Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering 

child ; 
He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in 

dread. 
But, clasped to his bosom, the infant was 

dead ! 




31 



35allali6. 



©knfinlas 



OR, LORD RONALD S CORONACH. 

For them the viewless forms of air obey, 
Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair; 

They know what spirit brews the stormfid day, 
And heartless oft, like moody madness stare, 

To see the phantom-train their secret work prepare. 

Collins. 

' O HONE a rie' ! O hone a rie' ! 

The pride of Albin's hue is o'er, 
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree ; 

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more ! ' 

O, sprung from great Macgillianore, 
The chief that never feared a foe, 

How matchless was thy broad claymore, 
How deadly thine unerring bow ! 

Well can the Saxon widows tell 

How on the Teith's resounding shore 

The boldest Lowland warriors fell, 
As down from Lenny's pass you bore. 

But o'er his hills in festal day 

How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree, 
While youths and maids the light strathspey 

So nimbly danced with Highland glee ! 

Cheered by the strength of Ronald's shell, 
E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; 

But now the loud lament we swell, 
O, ne'er to see Lord Ronald more ! 

From distant isles a chieftain came 
The joys of Ronald's halls to find. 

And chase with him the dark-brown game 
That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind. 

'T was Moy ; whom in Columba's isle 
The seer's prophetic spirit found, 

As, with a minstrel's fire the while. 

He waked his harp's harmonious sound. 



Full many a spell to him was known 

Which wandering spirits shrink to hear; 

And many a lay of potent tone 
Was never meant for mortal ear. 

For there, 't is said, in mystic mood 

High converse with the dead they hold, 

And oft espy the fated shroud ' 
That shall the future corpse enfold. 

O, so it fell that on a day. 

To rouse the red deer from their den, 
The chiefs have ta'en their distant way. 

And scoured the deep Glenfinlas glen. 

No vassals wait their sports to aid, 

To watch their safety, deck their board; 

Their simple dress the Highland plaid. 
Their trusty guard the Highland sword. 

Three summer days through brake and dell 
Their whistling shafts successful flew ; 

And still when dewy evening fell 
The quarry to their hut they drew. 

In gray Glenfinlas' deepest nook 

The solitary cabin stood. 
Fast by Moneira's sullen brook. 

Which murmurs through that lonely wood. 

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm. 
When three successive-days had flown ; 

And summer mist in dewy balm 

Steeped heathy bank and mossy stone. 

The moon, half-hid in silvery flakes, 
Afar her dubious radiance shed, 

Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes, 
And resting on Benledi's head. 

Now in their hut in social guise 
Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy ; 

And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes, 
As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy. 



BALLADS. 



483 



' What lack we here to crown our bliss, 
While thus the pulse of joy beats high ? 

What but fair woman's yielding kiss, 
Her panting breath and melting eye ? 

' To chase the deer of yonder shades, 
This morning left their father's pile 

The fairest of our mountain maids. 
The daughters of the proud Glengyle. 

' Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart. 
And dropped the teara:nd heaved the sigh : 

But vain the lover's wily art 

Beneath a sister's watchful eye. 



' Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death, 
No more on me shall rapture rise. 

Responsive to the panting breath. 
Or yielding kiss or melting eyes. 

' E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe 
Where sunk my hopes of love and fame, 

I bade my harp's wild wailings flow, 
On me the Seer's sad spirit came. 

■ The last dread curse of angry heaven, 
With ghastly sights and sounds of woe 

To dash each glimpse of joy was given — 
The gift the future ill to know. 




' But thou mayst teach that guardian fair. 
While far with Mary I am flown, 

Of other hearts to cease her care, 
And find it hard to guard her own. 

' Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see 

The lovely Flora of Glengyle, 
Unmindful of her charge and me, 

Hang on thy notes 'twixt tear and smile. 

' Or, if she choose a melting tale, 

All underneath the greenwood bough. 

Will good Saint Oran's rule prevail. 
Stern huntsman of the rigid brow ? ' 



' The bark thou saw'st, yon summer morn. 
So gayly part from Oban's bay. 

My eye beheld her dashed and torn 
Far on the rocky Colonsay. 

' Thy Fergus too — thy sister's son. 

Thou saw'st with pride the gallant's power, 

As marching 'gainst the Lord of Downe 
He left the skirts of huge Benmore. 

' Thou only saw'st their tartans wave 
As down Benvoirlich's side they wound, 

Heard'st but the pibroch answering brave 
To many a target clanking round. 



484 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' I heard the groans, I marked the tears, 
I saw the wound his bosom bore, 

When on the serried Saxon spears 
He poured his clan's resistless roar. 

' And thou, who bidst me think of bliss, 
And bidst my heart awake to glee, 

And court like thee the wanton kiss — 
That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee I 

' I see the death-damps chill thy brow : 
1 hear thy Warning Spirit cry ; 

The corpse-lights dance — they 're gone, 
and now — 
No more is given to gifted eye ! ' 

' Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, 

Sad prophet of the evil hour ! 
Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams 

Because to-morrow's storm may lour? 

' Or false or sooth thy words of woe. 

Clangillian's Chieftain ne'er shall fear ; 
His blood shall bound at rapture's glow, 

Though doomed to stain the Saxon spear 

' E'en now, to meet me in yon dell, 
My Mary's buskins brush the dew.' 

He spoke, nor bade the chief farewell, 
But called his dogs and gay withdrew. 

Within an hour returned each hound, 
In rushed the rousers of the deer ; 

They howled in melancholy sound. 
Then closely couched beside the Seer, 

No Ronald yet , though midnight came. 
And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams, 

As, bending o'er the dying flame. 

He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams. 

Sudden the hounds erect their ears. 
And sudden cease their moaning howl , 

Close pressed to Moy, they mark their fears 
By shivering lirAbs and stifled growl. 

Untouched the harp began to ring 
As softly, slowly, oped the door : 

And shook responsive every string 
As light a footstep pressed the floor. 

And by the watch-fire's glimmering light 
Close by the minstrel's side was seen 

An huntress maid, in beauty bright. 
All dropping wet her robes of green. 

All dropping wet her garments seem ; 

Chilled was her cheek, her bosom bare. 
As, bending o'er the dying gleam. 

She wrung the moisture from her hair. 



With maiden blush she softly said, 
' O gentle huntsman, hast thou seen. 

In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight glade, 
A lovely maid in vest of green : 

' With her a chief in Highland pride ; 

His shoulders bear the hunter's bow, 
The mountain dirk adorns his side, 

Far on the wind his tartans flow ? ' — 

' And who art thou ? and who are they ? ' 
All ghastly gazing, Moy replied : 

' And why, beneath the moon's pale ray. 
Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side ? ' 

' Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide, 
Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle. 

Our father's towers o'erhang her side, 
The castle of the bold Glengyle. 

' To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer 

Our woodland course this morn we bore, 

And haply met while wandering here 
The son of great Macgillianore. 

' O, aid me then to seek the pair. 

Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost : 

Alone I dare not venture there, 

Where walks, they say, the shrieking 
ghost.' 

' Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there ; 

Then first, my own sad vow to keep. 
Here will I pour my midnight prayer. 

Which still must rise when mortals sleep.' 

' O. first, for pity's gentle sake, 

Guide a lone wanderer on her way ! 

For I must cross the haunted brake, 
And reach my father's towers ere day.' 

' First, three times tell each Ave-bead, 
And thrice a Pater-noster say ; 

Then kiss with me the holy rede ; 
So shall we safely wend our way.' 

' O, shame to knighthood, strange and foul ! 

Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow, 
And shroud thee in the monkish cowl, 

Which best befits thy sullen vow. 

' Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire. 
Thy heart was froze to love and joy, 
When gayly rimg thy raptured lyre 
To wanton Morna's melting eye.' 

Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame 

And high his sable locks arose. 
And quick his color went and came 
I As fear and rage alternate rose. 



BALLADS. 



485 




' And thou ! when by the blazing oak 
I lay, to her and love resigned, 

Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke, 
Or sailed ye on the midnight wind ? 

' Not thine a race of mortal blood, 
Nor old Glengyle's pretended line ; 

Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood — 
Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine.' 

He muttered thrice Saint Oran's rhyme. 
And thrice Saint Fillan's powerful prayer : 

Then turned him to the eastern clime. 
And sternly shook his coal-black hair. 

And, bending o'er his harp, he flung 
His wildest witch-notes on the wind; 

And loud and high and strange they rung. 
As many a magic change they find. 

Tall waxed the Spirit's altering form, 
Till to the roof her stature grew; 

Then, mingling with the rising storm. 
With one wild yell away she flsw. 



Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear : 
The slender hut in fragments flew : 

But not a lock of Moy's loose hair 
Was waved by wind or wet by dew. 

Wild mingling with the howling gale. 
Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise: 

High o'er the minstrel's head they sail 
And die amid the northern skies. 

The voice of thunder shook the wood, 
As ceased the more than mortal yell ; 

And spattering foul a shower of blood 
Upon the hissing firebrands fell. 

Next dropped from high a mangled arm; 

The fingers strained an half-drawn blade : 
And last, the life-blood streaming warm. 

Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. 

Oft o'er that head in battling field 

Streamed the proud crest of high Ben- 
more ; 
That arm the broad claymore could wield 
Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore. 



486 



scorrs poetical works. 



Woe to Moneira's sullen rills ! 

Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen ! 
There never son of Albin's hills 

Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen ! 

E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet 
At noon shall shun that sheltering den, 

Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet 
The wayward Ladies of the Glen. 

And we — behind the chieftain's shield 
No more shall we in safety dwell ; 

None leads the people to the field — 
And we the loud lament must swell. 

O hone a rie' ! O hone a rie' ! 

The pride of Albin's line is o'er ! 
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree ; 

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more ! 



5rf)c 1£b£ of Saint 3ol)n. 

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, 

He spurred his courser on, 
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way. 

That leads to Brotherstone. 

He went not with the bold Buccleuch 

His banner broad to rear ; 
He went not 'gainst the English yew 

To lift the Scottish spear. 

Yet his plate-jack was braced and his hel- 
met was laced, 
And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; 
At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel 
sperthe. 
Full ten pound weight and more. 

The baron returned in three days' space, 
And his looks wer^ sad and sour; 

And weary was his courser's pace 
As he reached his rocky tower. 

He came not from where Ancram Moor 

Ran red with English blood ; 
Where the Douglas true and the bold 
Buccleuch 

'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. 

Yet was his helmet hacked and hewed, 

His acton pierced and tore, 
His axe and his dagger with blood im- 
brued, — 

But it was not English gore. 



He lighted at the Chapellage, 

He held him close and still; 
And he whistled thrice for his little foot- 
page, 

His name was English Will. 

' Come thou hither, my little foot-page. 

Come hither to my knee ; 
Though thou art young and tender of age, 

I think thou art true to me. 

' Come, tell me all that thou hast seen. 

And look thou tell me true ! 
Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been, 

What did thy lady do ? ' 

' My lady, each night, sought the lonely 
light 
That burns on the wild Watchfold ; 
For from height to height the beacons 
bright 
Of the English foemen told. 

' The bittern clamored from the moss, 
The wind blew loud and shrill ; 

Yet the craggy pathway she did cross 
To the eiry Beacon Hill. 

' I watched her steps, and silent came 
Where she sat her on a stone ; — 

No watchman stood by the dreary flame. 
It burned all alone. 

' The .second night I kept her in sight 

Till to the fire she came. 
And, by Mary's might ! an armed knight 

Stood by the lonely flame. 

' And many a word that warlike lord 

Did speak to my lady there ; 
But the rain fell fast and loud blew the 
blast, 

And I heard not what they were. 

' The third night there the sky was fair, 
And the mountain-blast was still, 

As again I watched the secret pair 
On the lonesome Beacon Hill. 

' And I heard her name the midnight hour, 

And name this holy eve ; 
And say, " Come this night to thy lady's 
bower ; 

Ask no bold baron's leave. 

'"He lifts his .spear with the bold Buc- 
cleuch ; 

His lady is all alone ; 
The door she '11 undo to her knight so true 

On the eve of good Saint John." 



BALLADS. 



487 



' " I cannot come ; I must not come ; 

I dare not come to thee ; 
On the eve of Saint John I must wander 
alone : 

In thy bower I may not be." 

' " Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight ! 

Thou shouldst not say me nay ; 
For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet 

Is worth the whole summer's day. 

' " And I '11 chain the blood-hound, and the 
warder shall not sound, 
And rushes shall be strewed on the stair : 
So, by the black rood-stone and by holy 
Saint John, 
I conjure thee, my love, to be there ! " 

' " Though the blood-hound be mute and 
the rush beneath my foot, 
And the warder his bugle should not 
blow, 
Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber 
to the east, 
And my footstep he would know." 

' " O, fear not the priest who sleepeth to 

the east, 

For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en ; 

And there to say mass, till three days do 

pass, 

For the soul of a knight that is slayne." 

' He turned him around and grimly he 
frowned : 
Then he laughed right scornfully — 
" He who says the mass-rite for the soul of 
that knight 
May as well say mass for me : 

* " At the lone midnight hour when bad ' 
spirits have power 
In thy chamber will I be." — 
With that he was gone and my lady left 
alone, 
And no more did I see.' 

Then changed, I trow, was that bold 
baron's brow 
From the dark to the blood-red high ; 
' Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou 
hast seen, 
For, by Mary, he shall die ! ' 

' His arms shone full bright in the beacon's 
red light ; 
His plume it was scarlet and blue ; 
On his shield was a hound in a silver leash 
bound. 
And his crest was a branch of the yew.' 



' Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, 

Loud dost thou lie to me ! 
For that knight is cold and low laid in the 
-mould, 

All under the Eildon-tree.' 

' Yet hear but my word, my noble lord ! 

For I heard her name his name ; 
And that lady bright, she called the knight 

Sir Richard of Coldinghame.' 

The bold baron's brow then changed, I trow, 

From high blood-red to pale — 
' The grave is deejD and dark — and the 

corpse is stiff and stark — • 
So I may not trust thy tale. 

' Where fair Tweed flows round holy Mel- 
rose, 

And Eildon slopes to the plain, 
Full three nights ago by some secret foe 

That gay gallant was slain. 

' The varying light deceived thy sight, 
And the wild winds drowned the name; 

For the Dryburgh bells ring and the white 
monks do sing 
For Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! ' 

He passed the court-gate and he oped the 
tower-gate, 
And he mounted the narrow stair 
To the bartizan-seat where, with maids that 
on her wait. 
He found his lady fair. 

That lady sat in mournful mood ; 

Looked over hill and vale ; 
Over Tweed's fair flood and Mertoun's 
wood. 

And all down Teviotdale. 

' Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright ! ' 

' Now hail, thou baron true ! 
What news, what news, from Ancram fight .'' 

What news from the bold Buccleuch ? ' 

' The Ancram moor is red with gore. 

For many a Southern fell ; 
And Buccleuch has charged us evermore 

To watch our beacons well.' 

The lady blushed red, but nothing she 
said: 
Nor added the baron a word : 
Then she stepped down the stair to her 
chamber fair, 
And so did her moody lord. 



488 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



In sleep the lady mourned, and the baron 
tossed and turned, 
And oft to himself he said, — 
' The worms around him creep, and his 
bloody grave is deep — 
It cannot give up the dead ! ' 

It was near the ringing of matin-bell, 

The night was well-nigh done. 
When a heavy sleep on that baron fell, 

On the eve of good Saint John. 

The lady looked through the chamber fair 

By the light of a dying flame ; 
And she was aware of a knight stood 
there — 

Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! 

' Alas ! away, away ! ' she cried, 

' For the holy Virgin's sake ! ' 
' Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ; 

But, lady, he will not awake. 

' By Eildon-tree for long nights three 

In bloody grave have I lain; 
The mass and the death-prayer are said for 
me, 

But, lady, they are said in vain. 

' By the baron's brand, near Tweed's fair 
strand. 
Most foully slain I fell ; 
And my restless sprite on the beacon's 
height 
For a space is doomed to dwell. 

' At our trysting-place, for a certain space, 

I must wander to and fro ; 
But I had not had power to come to thy 
bower 

Hadst thou not conjured me so.' 

Love mastered fear — her brow she 
crossed ; 

' How, Richard, hast thou sped ? 
And art thou saved or art thou lost ? ' 

The vision shook his head ! 

' Who spilleth life shall forfeit life ; 

So bid thy lord believe : 
That lawless love is guilt above. 

This awful sign receive.' 

He laid his left palm on an oaken beam, 

His right upon her hand ; 
The lady shrunk and fainting sunk, 

For it scorched like a fiery brand. 



The sable score of fingers four 
Remains on that board impressed ; 

And forevermore that lady wore 
A covering on her wrist. 

There is a nun in Dryburgh bower 

Ne'er looks upon the sun ; 
There is a monk in Melrose tower 

He speaketh word to none. 

That nun who ne'er beholds the day, 
That monk who speaks to none — 

That nun was Smaylho'me's lady gay. 
That monk the bold baron. 



ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE LADY 
ANNE HAMILTON. 

When princely Hamilton's abode 
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers, 

The song went round, the goblet flowed, 
And revel sped the laughing hours. 

Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound, 
So sweetly rung each vaultecl wall, 

And echoed light the dancer's bound, 
As mirth and music cheered the hall. 

But Cadyow's towers in ruins laid, 
And vaults by ivy mantled o'er, 

Thrill to the music of the shade. 
Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. 

Yet still of Cadyow's faded fame 
You bid me tell a minstrel tale, 

And tune my harp of Border frame 
On the wild banks of Evandale. 

For thou, from scenes of courtly pride, 
From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst 
turn, 

To draw oblivion's pall aside 

And mark the long-forgotten urn. 

Then, noble maid ! at thy command 
Again the crumbled halls shall rise ; 

Lo ! as on Evan's banks we stand. 
The past returns — the present flies. 

Where with the rock's wood-covered side 
Were blended late the ruins green. 

Rise turrets in fantastic pride 

And feudal banners flaunt between : 



BALLADS. 



489 



Where the rude torrent's brawling course 
Was shagged with thorn and tangling 
sloe, 

The ashler buttress braves its force 
And ramparts frown in battled row. 

'T is night — the shade of keep and spire 
Obscurely dance on Evan's stream ; 

And on the wave the warder's fire 
Is checkering the moonlight beam. 

trades slow their light; the east is gray : 
The weary warder leaves his tower ; 

Steeds snort, uncoupled stag-hounds bay, 
And merry hunters quit the bower. 

The drawbridge falls — they hurry out — 
Clatters each plank and swinging chain, 

As, dashing o'er, the jovial rout 

Urge the shy steed and slack the rein. 

First of his troop, the chief rode on; 

His shouting merry-men throng behind ; 
The steed of princely Hamilton 

Was fleeter than the mountain wind. 

From the thick copse the roebucks bound. 
The startled red-deer scuds the plain. 

For the hoarse bugle's warrior-sound 
Has rovised their mountain haunts again. 

Through the huge oaks of Evandale, 

Whose limbs a thousand years have worn. 

What sullen roar comes down the gale 
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn ? 

Mightiest of all the beasts of chase 

That roam in woody Caledon, 
Crashing the forest in his race. 

The Mountain Bull comes thundering on. 

Fierce on the hunter's quivered band 
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow, 

Spurns with black hoof and horn the sand, 
And tosses high his mane of snow. 

Aimed well the chieftain's lance has flown : 
Struggling in blood the savage lies ; 

His roar is sunk in hollow groan — 

Sound, merr}^ huntsmen ! sound \\\^pryse! 

'T is noon — against the knotted oak 
The hunters rest the idle spear; 

Curls through the trees the slender smoke, 
Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. 

Proudly the chieftain marked his clan. 
On greenwood lap all careless thrown, 

Yet missed his eye the boldest man 
That bore the name of Hamilton. 



' Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place. 
Still wont our weal and woe to share ? 

Why comes he not our sport to grace ? 
Why shares he not our hunter's fare ? ' 

Stern Claud replied with darkening face — 
Gray Paisley's haughty lord was he — 

' At merry feast or buxom chase 
No more the warrior wilt thou see. 

' Few suns have set since Woodhouselee 
Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam. 

When to his hearths in social glee 

The war-worn soldier turned him home. 

' There, wan from her maternal throes, 
His iVIargaret, beautiful and mild. 

Sate in her bower, a pallid rose. 

And peaceful nursed her new-born child. 

' O change accursed ! past are those days ; 

False Murray's ruthless spoilers came. 
And, for the hearth's domestic blaze. 

Ascends destruction's volumed flame. 

' What sheeted phantom wanders wild 
Where mountain Eske through woodland 
flows, 

Her arms enfold a shadowy child — 
O ! is it she, the pallid rose ? 

'The wildered traveller sees her glide. 
And hears her feeble voice with awe — 

" Revenge," she cries, " on iMurray's pride ! 
And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh ! " ' 

He ceased — and cries of rage and grief 
Burst mingling from the kindred band. 

And half arose the kindling chief. 

And half unsheathed his Arran brand. 

But who o'er bush, o'er stream and rock. 
Rides headlong with resistless speed. 

Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke 
Drives to the leap his jaded steed ; 

Whose cheek is pale, whose eyeballs glare, 
As one some visioned sight that saw, 

Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair? — 
'T is he ! 't is he ! 't is Bothwellhaugh. 

From gory selle and reeling steed 

Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound, 

And, reeking from the recent deed. 
He dashed his carbine on the ground. 

Sternly he spoke — ' 'T is sweet to hear 
In good greenwood the bugle blown. 

But sweeter to Revenge's ear 
To drink a tyrant's dying groan. 



490 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




' Your slaughtered quarry proudly trode 
At dawning morn o'er dale and down, 

But prouder base-born Murray rode 

Through old Linlithgow's crowded town. 

* From the wild Border's humbled side, 

In haughty triumph marched he, 
While Knox relaxed his bigot pride 
And smiled the traitorous pomp to see. 

' But can stern Power, with all his vaunt, 
Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare, 

The settled heart of Vengeance daunt, 
Or change the purpose of Despair ? 

♦ With hackbut bent, my secret stand, 

Dark as the purposed deed, I chose. 
And marked where mingling in his band 
Trooped Scottish pipes and English 
bows. 

' Dark Morton, girt with many a spear. 
Murder's foul minion, led the van; 

And clashed their broadswords in the rear 
The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan. 



' Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh, 
Obsequious at their Regent's rein, 

And haggard Lindesay's iron eye, 
That saw fair IMary weep in vain. 

' Mid pennoned spears, a steely grove, 
Proud Murray's plumage floated high : 

Scarce could his trampling charger move, 
So close the minions crowded nisfh. 



' From the raised vizor's shade his eye. 
Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks along, 

And his steel truncheon, waved on high. 
Seemed marshalling; the iron throng^. 



' But yet his saddened brow confessed 
A passing shade of doubt and awe ; 

Some fiend was whispering in his breast, 
" Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh ! " 

' The death-shot parts ! the charger springs ; 

Wild rises tumult's startling roar ! 
And Murray's plumy helmet rings — 

Rings on the ground to rise no more. 



BALLADS. 



491 



' What joy the raptured youth can feel, 
To hear her love the loved one tell — 

Or he who broaches on his steel 
The wolf by whom his infant fell ! 

' But dearer to my injured eye 

To see in dust proud Murray roll ; 

And mine was ten times trebled joy 
To hear him groan his felon soul. 

' My Margaret's spectre glided near, 
With pride her bleeding victim saw, 

And shrieked in his death-deafened ear, 
" Remember injured Bothwellhaugh ! "' 

' Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault ! 

Spread to the wind thy bannered tree ! 
Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow !- 

Murray is fallen and Scotland free ! ' 

Vaults every warrior to his steed ; 

Loud bugles join their wild acclaim — 



' Murray is fallen and Scotland freed ! 
Couch, Arran, couch thy spear of flame ! ' 

But see ! the minstrel vision fails — - 

The glimmering spears are seen no more ; 

The shouts of war die on the gales, 
Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. 

For the loud bugle pealing high. 

The blackbird whistles down the vale, 

And sunk in ivied ruins lie 

The bannered towers of Evandale. 

For chiefs intent on bloody deed. 

And Vengeance shouting o'er the slain, 

Lo ! high-born Beauty rules the steed, 
Or graceful guides the silken rein. 

And long may Peace and Pleasure own 
The maids who list the minstrel's tale ; 

Nor e'er a ruder guest be known 
On the fair banks of Evandale I 




tfiCEllaneous ^oems* 



IN THE ORDER OF THEIR COMPOSITION OR PUBLICATION. 



K\}c Utalet. 

[I797-] 

The violet in her greenwood bower, 

Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle, 

May boast itself the fairest flower 
In glen or copse or forest dingle. 

Though fair her gems of azure hue, 

Beneath the dewdrop's weight reclining, 

I 've seen an eye of lovelier blue, 

More sweet through watery lustre shining. 

The summer sun that dew shall dry 
Ere yet the day be past its morrow, 

Nor longer in my false love's eye 
Remained the tear of parting sorrow. 



2E0 a Ealig. 

WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN WALL. 
[I797-] 

Take these flowers which, purple waving. 

On the ruined rampart grew, 
Where, the sons of freedom braving, 

Rome's imperial standards flew. 

Warriors from the breach of danger 
Pluck no longer laurels there ; 

They but yield the passing stranger 
Wild-flower wreaths for Beauty's hair. 



2ri)e Bartj's Incantation. 

WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT OF INVASION IN 
THE AUTUMN OF 1804. 

The forest of Glenmore is drear. 

It is all of black pine and the dark oak- 
tree; 
And the midnight wind to the mountain deer 



Is whistling the forest lullaby: 
The moon looks through the drifting storm, 
But the troubled lake reflects not her form, 
For the waves roll whitening to the land. 
And dash against the shelvy strand. 

There is a voice among the trees 

That mingles with the groaning oak — 
That mingles with the stormy breeze. 
And the lake-waves dashing against the 

rock ; — 
There is a voice within the wood. 
The voice of the bard in fitful mood; 
His song was louder than the blast. 
As the bard of Glenmore through the forest 

past. 

' Wake ye from your sleep of death. 

Minstrels and bards of other days ! 
For the midnight wind is on the heath, 

And the midnight meteors dimly blaze: 
The Spectre with his Bloodv Hand 
Is wandering through the wild woodland; 
The owl and the raven are mute for dread, 
And the time is meet to awake the dead ! 

' Souls of the mighty, wake and say 
To what high strain your harps were 
strung, 
When Lochlin ploughed her billowy way 
And on your shores her Norsemen 
flung? 
Her Norsemen trained to spoil and blood, 
Skilled to prepare the raven's food, 
All by your harpings doomed to die 
On bloody Largs and Loncarty. 

' Mute are ye all ? No murmurs strange 

Upon the midnight breeze sail by, 
Nor through the pines with whistling 
change 
Mimic the harp's wild harmony! 
Mute are ye now? — Ye ne'er were mute 
When Murder with his bloody foot. 
And Rapine with his iron hand. 
Were hovering near yon mountain strand. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



493 



' O, yet awake the strain to tell, 

By every deed in song enrolled, 
By every chief who fought or fell, 

For Albion's weal in battle bold : — 
From Coilgach, lirst who rolled his car 
Through the deep ranks of Roman war. 
To him of veteran memory dear 
Who victor died on Aboukir. 

'By all their swords, by all their scars, 

By all their names, a mighty spell ! 
By all their wounds, by all their wars, 

Arise, the mighty strain to tell ! 
For fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain, 
More impious than the heathen Dane, 
More grasping than all-grasping Rome, 
Gaul's ravening legions hither come ! ' 

The wind is hushed and still the lake — 
Strange murmurs fill my tinkling ears, 

Bristles my hair, my sinews quake. 
At the dread voice of other years — 
' When targets clashed and bugles rung, 
And blades round warriors' heads were 

flung. 
The foremost of the band were we 
And hymned the joys of Liberty ! ' 



l^ell&Ellgn. 

[1S05.] 

I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty 
Hellvellyn, 
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed 
misty and wide ; 

All was still save by fits, when the eagle 
was yelling. 
And starting around me the echoes 
replied. 

On the right, Striden-edge round the Red- 
tarn was bending. 

And Catchedicam its left verge was de- 
fending, 

One huge nameless rock in the front was 
ascending. 
When I marked the sad spot where the 
wanderer had died. 

Dark green was that spot mid the brown 
mountain heather, 
Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched 
in decay. 
Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned 
to weather 
Till the mountain-winds wasted the ten- 
antless clay. 



Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely ex- 
tended. 

For, faithful in death, his mute favorite 
attended. 

The much-loved remains of her master 
defended, 
A.nd chased the hill-fox and the raven 
away. 

How long didst thou think that his silence 
was slumber ? 
When the wind waved his garment, how 
oft didst thou start ? 
■ How many long days and long weeks didst 
thou number, 
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of 
thy heart.'' 
And O, was it meet that — no requiem 

rea,d o'er him, 
No mother to weep and no friend to deplore 

him, 
And thou, little guardian, alone stretched 
before him — 
Unhonored the Pilgrim from life should 
depart ? 

When a prince to the fate of the peasant 

has yielded. 
The tapestry waves dark round the dim- 
lighted hall : 
With scutcheons of silver the coffin is 

shielded, 
And pages stand mute by the canopied 

pall : 
Through the courts at deep midnight the 

torches are gleaming; 
In the proudly arched chapel the banners 

are beaming ; 
Far adown the long aisle sacred music is 

streaming, 
Lamenting a chief of the people should 

fall. 

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of na- 
ture. 
To lay down thy head like the meek 
mountain lamb. 

When wildered he drops from some cliff 
huge in stature, 
And draws his last sob by the side of his 
dam. 

And more stately thy couch by this desert 
lake lying. 

Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover 
flying. 

With one faithful friend but to witness thy 
dying 
In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catche- 
dicam. 



494 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



[1806.] 

Air — " Daffy dz Gangwen.'" 

DiNAS Emlinn, lament ; for the moment is 
nigh, 

When mute in the woodlands thine echoes 
shall die : 

No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall 
rave. 

And mix his wild notes with the wild dash- 
ing wave. 

In spring and in autumn thy glories of 
shade 

Unhonored shall flourish, unhonored shall 
fade ; 

For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the 
tongue 

That viewed them with rapture, with rap- 
ture that sung. 

Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in 

their pride. 
And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's 

side ; 
But where is the harp shall give life to their 

name ? 
And where is the bard shall give heroes 

their fame? 

And O, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daughters so 

fair. 
Who heave the white bosom and wave the 

dark hair ; 
What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their 

eye, 
When half of their charms with Cadwallon 

shall die ? 

Then adieu, silver Teivi ! I quit thy loved 

scene 
To join the dim choir of the bards who 

have been •, 
With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the 

Old, 
And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. 

And adieu, Dinas Emlinn ! still green be 
thy shades, 

Unconquered thy warriors and matchless 
thy maids ! 

And thou whose faint warblings my weak- 
ness can tell, 

Farewell, my loved harp ! my last treasure, 
farewell ! 



2EJje Norman f^orse^Sfjac. 

[1806.] 

Air — " The War-Song of the Men of GlamorgatiP 

Red glows the forge in Striguil's bounds, 
And hammers din, and anvil sounds, 
And armorers with iron toil 
Barb many a steed for battle's broil. 
Foul fall the hand which bends the steel 
Around the courser's thundering heel, 
That e'er shall dint a sable wound 
On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground ! 

From Chepstow's towers ere dawn of morn 
Was heard afar the bugle-horn. 
And forth in banded pomp and pride 
Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride. 
They swore their banners broad should 

gleam 
In crimson light on Rymny's stream ; 
They vowed Caerphili's sod should feel 
The Norman charger's spurning heel. 

And sooth they swore — the sun arose, 
And Rymny's wave with crimson glows ; 
For Clare's red banner, floating wide, 
Rolled down the stream to Severn's tide ! 
And sooth they vowed — the trampled green 
Showed where hot Neville's charge had 

been : 
In every sable hoof-tramp stood 
A Norman horseman's curdling blood ! 

Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil 
That armed stout Clare for Cambrian broil ; 
Their orphans long the art may rue, 
For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe. 
No more the stamp of armed steed 
Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead; 
Nor trace be there in early spring 
Save of the Fairies' emerald ring. 



2rf)e fHaiti of SToro. 

[iSor,.] 

O, LOW shone the sun on the fair lake of 
Toro, 
And weak were the whispers that waved 
the dark wood. 
All as a fair maiden, bewildered in sorrow. 
Sorely sighed to the breezes and wept to 
the flood. 
' O saints, from the mansions of bliss lowly 
bendins ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



495 



Sweet Virgin, who hearest the suppHant's 
cry ! 
Now grant my petition in anguishascencling, 
My Henry restore or let Eleanor die ! ' 

All distant and faint were the sounds of the 
battle, 
With the breezes they rise, with the 
breezes they fail, 
Till the shout and the groan and the con- 
flict's dread rattle, 
And the chase's wild clamor, came load- 
ing the gale. 
Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so 
dreary ; 
Slowly approaching a warrior was seen ; 
Life's ebbing tide marked his footsteps so 
weary, 
Cleft was his helmet and woe was hif mien. 

' O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are 
flying ! 
O, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian 
is low ! 
Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry 
is lying. 
And fast through the woodland ap- 
proaches the foe.' 
Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow. 
And scarce could she hear them, be- 
numbed with despair : 
And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake 
of Toro, 
Forever he set to the Brave and the Fair. 



9ri)e Palmer. 
[1806.] 

' O, OPEN the door, some pity to show, 
Keen blows the northern wind ! 

The glen is white with the drifted snow. 
And the path is hard to find. 

' No outlaw seeks your castle gate. 
From chasing the king's deer. 

Though even an outlaw's wretched state 
Might claim compassion here. 

' A weary Palmer, worn and weak, 

I wander for my sin ; 
O, open, for Our Lady's sake ! 

A pilgrim's blessing win ! 

' I '11 give you pardons from the Pope, 
And reliques from o'er the sea, — 

Or if for these you will not ope. 
Yet open for charity. 



'The hare is crouching in her form, 

The hart beside the hind ; 
An aged man amid the storm, 

No shelter can I find. 

' You hear the Ettrick's sullen roar, 
Dai'k, deep, and strong is he. 

And I must ford the Ettrick o'er, 
Unless you pity me. 

' The iron gate is bolted hard, 

At which I knock in vain ; 
The owner's heart is closer barred, 

Who hears me thus complain. 

' Farewell, farewell ! and Mary grant. 

When old and frail you be, 
You never may the shelter want 

That 's now denied to me.' 

The ranger on his couch lay warm, 
And heard him plead in vain ; 

But oft amid December's storm 
He '11 hear that voice again : 

For lo ! when through the vapors dank 
Morn shone on Ettrick fair, 

A corpse amid the alders rank. 
The Palmer weltered there. 



W^z fHaiti of l^citipatf). 

[1806.] 

O, lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 

And lovers' ears in hearing ; 
And love in life's extremity 

Can lend an hour of cheering. 
Disease had been in Mary's bower. 

And slow decay from mourning, 
Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower 

To watch her love's returning. 

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, 

Her form decayed by pining. 
Till through her wasted hand at night 

You saw the taper shining; 
By fits, a sultry hectic hue 

Across her cheek were flying ; 
By fits, so ashy pale she grew. 

Her maidens thought her dying. 

Yet keenest powers to see and hear 
Seemed in her frame residing; 

Before the watch-dog pricked his ear. 
She heard her lover's riding : 



496 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ere scarce a distant form was kenned, 
She knew, and waved to greet him : 

And o'er the battlement did bend, 
As on the wing to meet him. 

He came — he passed — an heedless gaze, 

As o'er some stranger glancing; 
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, 

Lost in his courser's prancing — 
The castle arch, whose hollow tone 

Returns each whisper spoken, 
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan 

Which told her heart was broken. 



eiantJering Millie. 

[1806.] 

All joy was bereft me the day that you left 
me. 
And climbed the tall vessel to sail yon 
wide sea; 
O weary betide it ! 1 wandered beside it. 
And banned it for parting my Willie and 
me. 

Far o'er the wave hast thou followed thy 
fortune. 
Oft fought the squadrons of France and 
of Spain ; 
Ae kiss of welcome 's worth twentj' at 
parting. 
Now I hae gotten my Willie again. 

When the sky it was mirk, and the winds 
they were wailing, 
I sat on the beach wi' the tear in my ee, 
And thought o' the bark where my Willie 
was sailing, 
And wished that the tempest could a" 
blaw on me. 

Now that thy gallant ship rides at her 
mooring, 
Now that my wanderer's in safety at 
hame. 
Music to me were the wildest winds' 
roaring, 
That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove the dark 
ocean faem, 

When the lights they did blaze, and the 
guns they did rattle. 
And blithe was each heart for the great 
victory. 



In secret I wept for the dangers of battle, 
And thy glory itself was scarce comfort 
to me. 

But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly 
listen, 
Of each bold adventure and every brave 
scar ; 
And trust me, I '11 smile, though my een 
they may glisten. 
For sweet after danger's the tale of the 
war. 

And O, how we doubt when there 's dis- 
tance 'tween lovers, 
When there 's naething to speak to the 
heart thro" the ee ! 
How often the kindest and warmest prove 
rovers, 
And the love of the faithfuUest ebbs like 
the sea ! 

Till, at times — could 1 help it ? — I pined 
and I pondered 
li love could change notes like the bird 
on the tree — 
Now I '11 ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae 
wandered ; 
Enough, thy leal heart has been constant 
to me. 

Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and 
through channel. 
Hardships and danger despising for fame, 
Furnishing story for glory's bright annal. 
Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and 
hame ! 

Enough now thy story in annals of glory 
Has humbled the pride of France, Hol- 
land, and Spain ; 
No more shalt thou grieve me, no more 
shalt thou leave me, 
I never will part with my Willie again. 



f^untfng .Song. 

[1S08.] 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 

On the mountain dawns the day, 

All the jolly chase is here, 

With hawk and horse and hunting-spear! 

Hounds are in their couples yelling. 

Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, 

Merrily, merrily, mingle they, 

' Waken, lords and ladies gay.' 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



497 



Waken, lords and ladies gay, 

The mist has left the mountain gray, 

Springlets in the dawn are steaming. 

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming : 

And foresters have busy been 

To track the buck in thicket green; 

Now we come to chant our lay, 

* Waken, lords and ladies gay.' 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
To the green- wood haste away ; 
We can show you where he lies, 
Fleet of foot and tall of size ; 
We can show the marks he made, 
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed; 
You shall see him brought to bay, 
' Waken, lords and ladies gay.' 

Louder, louder chant the lay, 
Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 
Tell them youth and mirth and glee 
Run a course as well as we ; 
Time, stern huntsman, who can balk, 
Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk ? 
Think of this and rise with day, 
Gentle lords and ladies gay. 



Song. 

[1808.] 

O, SAY not, my love, with that mortified air, 
That your spring-time of pleasure is flown, 

Nor bid me to maids that are younger 
repair 
For those raptures that still are thine own. 

Though April his temples may wreathe with 
the vine, 
Its tendrils in infancy curled, 
'T is the ardor of August matures us the 
wine 
Whose life-blood enlivens the world. 

Though thy form that was fashioned as 
light as a fay's 
Has assumed a proportion more round. 
And thy glance that was bright as a falcon's 
at gaze 
Looks soberly now on the ground, — 

Enough, after absence to meet me again 
Thy steps still with ecstasy move ; 

Enough, that those dear sober glances 
retain 
For me the kind language of love. 



IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENGLISH POEM. 
[1809.] 

My wayward fate I needs must plain, 

Though bootless be the theme ; 
I loved and was beloved again. 

Yet all was but a dream : 
For, as her love was quickly got. 

So it was quickly gone ; 
No more I 'II bask in flame so hot, 

But coldly dwell alone. 

Not maid more bright than maid was e'er 

My fancy shall beguile, 
By flattering word or feigned tear. 

By gesture, look, or smile : 
No more I '11 call the shaft fair shot, 

Till it has fairly flown. 
Nor scorch me at a flame so hot — • 

I '11 rather freeze alone. 

Each ambushed Cupid I '11 defy 

In cheek or chin or brow. 
And deem the glance of woman's eye 

As weak as woman's vow : 
I '11 lightly hold the lady's heart. 

That is but lightly won ; 
I '11 steel my breast to beauty's art, 

And learn to live alone. 

The flaunting torch soon blazes out. 

The diamond's ray abides ; 
The flame its glory hurls about. 

The gem its lustre hides ; 
Such gem I fondly deemed was mine, 

And glowed a diamond stone. 
But, since each eye may see it shine, 

I '11 darkling dwell alone. 

No waking dreams shall tinge my thought 

With dyes so bright and vain. 
No silken net so slightly wrought 

Shall tangle me again : 
No more I '11 pay so dear for wit, 

I '11 live upon mine own, 
Nor shall wild passion trouble it, — 

I '11 rather dwell alone. 

And thus I '11 hush my heart to rest, — 

' Thy loving labor 's lost ; 
Thou shalt no more be wildly blest. 

To be so strangely crost : 
The widowed turtles mateless die. 

The phrenix is but one ; 
They seek no loves — no more will I — 

I '11 rather dwell alone.' 



32 



498 



scorrs poetical works. 



lEpitapl) 

DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT IN LICHFIELD 
CATHEDRAL, AT THE BURIAL-PLACE OF THE 
FAMILY OF MISS SEWARD. 

[1809.] 

Amid these aisles where once his precepts 
showed 

The heavenward pathway which in life he 
trode, 

This simple tablet marks a Fathers bier, 

And those he loved in life in death are near ; 

For him, for them, a Daughter bade it rise, 

Memorial of domestic charities. 

Still wouldst thou know why o'er the mar- 
ble spread 

In female grace the willow droops her head ; 

Why on her branches, silent and unstrung, 

The minstrel harp is emblematic hung ; 

What poet's voice is smothered here in dust 

Till waked to join the chorus of the just, — 

Lo ! one brief line an answer sad sujiplies, 

Honored, beloved, and mourned, here 
Seward lies ! 

Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friend- 
ship say, — 

Go seek her genius in her living lay. 



TO Miss BAILLIE's PLAY OF "THE FAMILY 
LEGEND." 

[1S09.] 

'T IS sweet to hear expiring Summer's sigh. 
Through forests tinged with russet, wail 

and die ; 
"T is sweet and sad the latest notes to hear 
Of distant music, dying on the ear ; 
But far more sadly sweet on foreign strand 
We list the legends of our native land, 
Linked as they come with every tender tie. 
Memorials dear of youth and infancy. 

Chief thy wild tales, romantic Caledon, 
Wake keen remembrance in each hardy 

son. 
Whether on India's burning coasts he toil 
Or till Acadia's winter-fettered soil. 
He hears with throbbing heart and mois- 
tened eyes, 
And, as he hears, what dear illusions rise ! 
It opens on his soul his native dell, 
The woods wild waving and the water's 
swell ; 



Tradition's theme, the tower that threats 

the plain. 
The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain; 
The cot beneath whose simple porch were 

told 
By gray-haired patriarch the tales of old. 
The infant group that hushed their sports 

the while, 
And the dear maid who listened with a 

smile. 
The wanderer, while the vision warms his 

brain. 
Is denizen of Scotland once again. 

Are such keen feelings to the crowd 
confined, 
And sleep they in the poet's gifted mind ? 
O no ! For she, within whose mighty page 
Each tyrant Passion shows his woe and 

rage. 
Has felt the wizard influence they inspire, 
And to your own traditions tuned her lyre. 
Yourselves shall judge — whoe'er has raised 

the sail 
By Mull's dark coast has heard this even- 
ing's tale. 
The plaided boatman, resting on his oar, 
Points to the fatal rock amid the roar 
Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er 

to-night 
Our humble stage shall offer to your sight ; 
Proudly preferred that first our efforts give 
Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe 

and live ; 
More proudly yet, should Caledon approve 
The filial token of a daughter's love. 



WRITTEN IN IMITATION OF CRABBE, AND PUBLISHED IN 
THE EDINBURGH ANNUAL REGISTER OF 1809. 

Welcome, grave stranger, to our green 

retreats 
Where health with exercise and freedom 

meets ! 
Thrice welcome, sage, whose philosophic 

plan 
By nature's limits metes the rights of man ; 
Generous as he who now for freedom bawls. 
Now gives full value for true Indian 

shawls : 
O'er court, o'er custom-house, his shoe who 

flings. 
Now bilks excisemen and now bullies kings. 
Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive mind 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



499 



Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for man- 
kind : 

Thine eye applausive each sly vermin sees, 

That balks the snare yet battens on the 
cheese ; 

Thine ear has heard with scorn instead of 
awe 

Our buckskinned justices expound the law, 

Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the 
pain, 

And for the netted partridge noose the 
swain ; 

And thy vindictive arm would fain have 
broke 

The last light fetter of the feudal yoke. 

To give the denizens of wood and wild. 

Nature's free race, to each her free-born 
child. 

Hence hast thou marked with grief fair 
London's race. 

Mocked with the boon of one poor Easter 
chase. 

And longed to send them forth as free as 
when 

Poured o'er Chantilly the Parisian train. 

When musket, pistol, blunderbuss, com- 
bined, 

And scarce the field-pieces were left be- 
hind ! 

A squadron's charge each leveret's heart 
dismayed. 

On every covey fired a bold brigade ; 

La Douce Huf/iamte ^.^^voved the sport. 

For great the alarm indeed, yet small the 
hurt ; 

Shouts patriotic solemnized the day. 

And Seine re-echoed Vive la Liberie ! 

But mad Citoyen, meek Monsieur again. 

With some few added links resumes his 
chain. 

Then, since such scenes to France no more 
are known. 

Come, view with me a hero of thine own, 

One whose free actions vindicate the 
cause 

Of sylvan liberty o'er feudal laws. 

Seek we yon glades where the proud oak 

o'ertops 
Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse. 
Leaving between deserted isles of land 
Where stunted heath is patched with ruddy 

sand, 
And lonely on the waste the yew is seen, 
Or straggling hollies spread a brighter 

green. 
Here, little worn and winding dark and 

steep, 
Our scarce marked path descends yon 

dingle deep : 



Follow — but heedful, cautious of a trip — 
In earthly mire philosophy may slip. 
Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream. 
Till, guided by the charcoal's smothering 

steam, 
We reach the frail yet barricaded door 
Of hovel formed for poorest of the poor ; 
No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke re- 
ceives. 
The walls are wattles and the covering 

leaves ; 
For, if such hut, our forest statutes say. 
Rise in the progress of one night and day — 
Though placed where still the Conqueror's 

bests o'erawe. 
And his son's stirrup shines the badge of 

law — ■ 
The builder claims the unenviable boon. 
To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and 

soon 
As wigwam wild that shrouds the native 

frore 
On the bleak coast of frost-barred Labrador. 

Approach and through the unlatticed 

window peep — 
Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep ; 
Sunk mid yon sordid blankets till the sun 
Stoop to the west, the plunderer's toils are 

done. 
Loaded and primed and prompt for desper- 
ate hand, 
Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand ; 
While round the hut are in disorder laid 
The tools and booty of his lawless trade ; 
For force or fraud, resistance or escape, 
The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the 

crape. 
His pilfered powder in yon nook he hoards. 
And the filched lead the church's roof 

affords — 
Hence shall the rector's congregation fret. 
That while his sermon 's dry his walls are 

wet. 
The fish-spear barbed, the sweeping net are 

there. 
Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins 

of hare, 
Cordage for toils and wiring for the snare. 
Bartered for game from chase or warren 

won, 
Yon cask holds moonlight, run when moon 

was none ; 
And late-snatched spoils lie stowed in iuitch 

apart 



Look on his pallet foul and mark his rest : 
What scenes perturbed are acting in his 
breast ! 



500 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



His sable brow is wet and wrung with 

pain, 
And his dilated nostril toils in vain: 
For short and scant the breath each effort 

draws, 
And 'twixt each effort Nature claims a 

pause. 
Beyond the loose and sable neckcloth 

stretched, 
His sinewy throat seems by convulsion 

twitched, 
While the tongue falters, as to utterance 

loath, 
Sounds of dire import — watchword, threat, 

and oath. 
Though, stupefied by toil and drugged with 

gin, 
The body sleep, the restless guest within 
Now plies on wood and wold his lawless 

trade, 
Now in the fangs of justice wakes dis- 
mayed. — 

■ ' Was that wild start of terror and despair, 
Those bursting eyeballs and that wildered 

air, 
Signs of compunction for a murdered hare ? 
Do the locks bristle and the eyebrows 

arch 
For grouse or partridge massacred in 

March?' 



No, scoffer, no ! Attend, and mark with 

awe, 
There is no wicket in the gate of law I 
He that would e'er so lightly set ajar 
That awful portal must undo each bar : 
Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride, 
Will join to storm the breach and force the 

barrier wide. 

That ruffian, whom true men avoid and 

dread, 
Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, call 

Black Ned, 
Was Edward Mansell once ; — the lightest 

heart 
That ever played on holiday his part ! 
The leader he in every Christmas game, 
The harvest-feast grew blither when he 

came. 
And liveliest on the chords the bow did 

glance 
When Edward named the tune and led the 

dance. 
Kind was his heart, his passions quick and 

strong, 
Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his song; 
And if he loved a sun. his father swore. 



' "T was but a trick of youth would soon be 

o'er. 
Himself had done the same some thirty 

years before.' 

But he whose humors spurn law's awful 
yoke 
Must herd with those by v^^hom law's bonds 

are broke ; 
The common dread of justice soon allies 
The clown who robs the warren or excise 
With sterner felons trained to act more 

dread. 
Even with the wretch by whom his fellow 

bled. 
Then, as in plagues the foul contagions pass, 
Leavening and festering the corrupted mass, 
Guilt leagues with guilt while mutual mo- 
tives draw. 
Their hope impunity, their fear the law ; 
Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous 

the same. 
Till the revenue balked or pilfered game 
Flesh the young culprit, and example leads 
To darker villany and direr deeds. 

Wild howled the wind the forest glades 

along, 
And oft the owl renewed her dismal song; 
Around the spot where erst he felt the 

wound, 
Red William's spectre walked his midnight 

round. 
When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting 

look. 
From the green marshes of the stagnant 

brook 
The bittern's sullen shout the sedges shook ! 
The waning moon with storm-presaging 

gleam 
Now gave and now withheld her doubtful 

beam ; 
The old Oak stooped his arms, then flung 

them high, 
Bellowing and groaning to the troubled 

sky — 
'T was then that, couched amid the brush- 
wood sear. 
In Malwood-walk young Mansell watched 

the deer: 
The fattest buck received his deadly shot — 
The watchful keeper heard and sought the 

spot. 
Stout were their hearts, and stubborn was 

their strife ; 
O'erpowered at length the Outlaw drew 

his knife. 
Next morn a corpse was found upon the 

fell — 
The rest his waking agony may tell ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



501 



8rte ISolti ©ragaon ; 

OR, THE PLAIN OF BADAJOS. 
[18.2.] 

'T WAS a Marechal of France, and he fain 

would honor gain, 
And he longed to take a passing glance at 
Portugal from Spain; 
With his flying guns this gallant gay. 
And boasted corps d'armee — 
O, he feared not our dragoons with their 
long swords boldly riding, 
Whack, fal de ral, etc. 

To Campo Mayor come, he had quietly sat 

down, 
Just a fricassee to pick while his soldiers 
sacked the town, 
When, 't was peste ! morbleu ! mon 

General, 
Hear the English bugle-call I 
And behold the light dragoons with their 
long swords boldly riding, 
Whack, fal de ral, etc. 

Right about went horse and foot, artillery 

and all, 
And, as the devil leaves a house, they tum- 
bled through the wall; 
They took no time to seek the door. 
But, best foot set before — 
O, they ran from our dragoons with their 
long swords boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, etc. 

Those valiant men of France they had 

scarcely fled a mile, 
When on their flank there soused at once 
the British rank and file ; 
For Long, De Grey, and Otway then 
Ne'er minded one to ten, 
But came on like light dragoons with their 
long swords boldly riding, 
Whack, fal de ral, etc. 

Three hundred British lads they made 

three thousand reel. 
Their hearts were made of English oak. 
their swords of Sheffield steel. 
Their horses were in Yorkshire bred. 
And Beresford them led; 
So huzza for brave dragoons with their 
long swords boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, etc. 

Then here 's a health to Wellington, to 

Beresford, to Long, 
And a single word of Bonaparte before I 

close my song: 



The eagles that to fight he brings 
Should serve his men with wings. 
When they meet the bc^d dragoons with 
their long swords boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, etc. 



©n S^z iSassacre of ©lencae. 
[1814.] 

' O, TELL me, Harper, wherefore flow 
Thy wayward notes of wail and woe 
Far down the desert of Glencoe, 

Where none may list their melody .'' 
Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly. 
Or to the dun-deer glancing by, 
Or to the eagle that from high 

Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy ? ' 

' No, not to these, for they have rest, • — 
The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest. 
The stag his lair, the erne her nest, 

Abode of lone security. 
But those for whom I pour the lay, 
Not wild-wood deep nor mountain gray. 
Not this deep dell that shrouds from day. 

Could screen from treacherous cruelty. 

' Their flag was furled and mute their drum. 
The very household dogs were dumb, 
Unwont to bay at guests that come 

In guise of hospitality. 
His blithest notes the piper plied, 
Her gayest snood the maiden tied, 
The dame her distaff flung aside 

To tend her kindly housewifery. 

' The hand that mingled in the meal 
At midnight drew the felon steel, 
And gave the host's kind breast to feel 

Meed for his hospitality ! 
The friendly hearth which warmed that hand 
At midnight armed it with the brand 
That bade destruction's flames expand 

Their red and fearful blazonry. 

' Tlien woman's shriek was heard in vain. 

Nor infancy's unpitied plain. 

More than the warrior's groan, could gain 

Respite from ruthless butchery ! 
The winter wind that whistled shrill. 
The snows that night that cloked the hill. 
Though wild and pitiless, had still 

Far more than Southern clemency. 



502 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' Long have my harp's best notes been gone, 
Few are its strings and faint their tone, 
They can but sound in desert lone 

Their gray-haired master's misery. 
Were each gray hair a minstrel string. 
Each chord should imprecations fling, 
Till startled Scotland loud should ring, 

" Revenge for blood and treachery ! " ' 



FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING OF THE 
PITT CLUB OF SCOTLAND. 

[.814.] 

O, DREAD was the time, and more dreadful 
the omen, 
When the brave on Marengo lay slaugh- 
tered in vain, 
And beholding broad Europe bowed down 
by her foemen, 
Pitt closed in his anguish the map of 
her reign ! 
Not the fate of broad Europe could bend 
his brave spirit 
To take for his country the safety of 
shame ; 
O, then in her triumph remember his merit. 
And hallow the goblet that flows to his 
name. 

Round the husbandman's head while he 
traces the furrow 
The mists of the winter may mingle with 
rain. 
He may plough it with labor and sow it in 
sorrow, 
And sigh while he fears he has sowed it 
in vain ; 
He may die ere his children shall reap in 
their gladness. 
But the blithe harvest-home shall re- 
member his claim ; 
And their jubilee-shout shall be softened 
with sadness, 
While they hallow the goblet that flows 
to his name. 

Though anxious and timeless his life was 
expended, 
In toils for our country preserved by his 
care, 
Though he died ere one ray o'er the nations 
ascended, 
To light the long darkness of doubt and 
despair ; 



The storms he endured in our Britain's 
December, 
The perils his wisdom foresaw and 
o'ercame, 
In her glory's rich harvest shall Britain 
remember, 
And hallow the goblet that flows to his 
name. 

Nor forget His gray head who, all dark in 
affliction, 
Is deaf to the tale of our victories won, 
And to sounds the most dear to paternal 
affection, 
The shout of his people applauding his 
Son; 
By his firmness unmoved in success and 
disaster, 
By his long reign of virtue, remember his 
claim ! 
With our tribute to Pitt join the praise of 
his Master, 
Though a tear stain the goblet that flows 
to his name. 

Yet again fill the wine-cup and change the 
sad measure, 
The rites of our grief and our gratitude 
paid, 
To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the 
bright treasure, 
The wisdom that planned, and the zeal 
that obeyed ! 
Fill Wellington's cup till it beam like his 
glory, 
Forget not our own brave Dalhousie 
and Gr^me ; 
A thousand years hence hearts shall bound 
at their story, 
And hallow the goblet that flows to their 
fame. 



ilines 



ADDRESSED TO RANALD MACDONALD, ESQ., 
OF STAFFA. 

[1814.] 

Staffa, sprung from high Macdonald, 
Worthy branch of old Clan-Ranald ! 
Staffa ! king of all kind fellows ! 
Well befall thy hills and valleys, 
Lakes and inlets, deeps and shallows — 
Cliffs of darkness, caves of wonder. 
Echoing the Atlantic thunder; 
Mountains which the gray mist covers, 
Where the Chieftain spirit hovers, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



.503 



Pausing while his pinions quiver, 
Stretched to quit our land forever ! 
Each kind influence reign above thee ! 
Warmer heart 'twixt this and Staffa 
Beats not than in heart of Staffa ! 



pijaros iLaquitut. 

[1814.] 

Far in the bosom of the deep, 

O'er these wild shelves my watch I keep; 

A ruddy gem of changeful light, 

Bound on the dusky brow of night, 

The seaman bids my lustre hail. 

And scorns to strike his timorous sail. 



ILctters m Uerse. 

ON THE VOYAGE WITH THE COMMISSIONERS 
OF NORTHERN LIGHTS. 

STo l^ts Oracc tijc IBufec of JSurcImdj. 

Lighthouse Yacht in the Sound of Lerwick, 
Zetland, 8th August, 1S14. 

Health to the chieftain from his clans- 
man true ! 

From her true minstrel, health to fair 
Buccleuch ! 

Health from the isles where dewy Morning 
weaves 

Her chaplet with the tints that Twilight 
leaves ; 

Where late the sun scarce vanished fiom 
the sight. 

And his bright pathway graced the short- 
lived night, 

Though darker now as autumn's shades 
extend 

The north winds whistle and the mists 
ascend ! 

Health from the land where eddying whirl- 
winds toss 

The storm-rocked cradle of the Cape of 
Noss ; 

On outstretched cords the giddy engine 
slides, 

His own strong arm the bold adventurer 
guides. 

And he that lists such desperate feat to try 

May, like the sea-mew, skim 'twixt surf 
and sky, 



And feel the mid-air gales around hini 

blow, 
And see the billows rage five hundred feet 

below. 

Here, by each stormy peak and desert 

shore, 
The hardy islesman tugs the daring oar. 
Practised alike his venturous course to 

keep 
Through the white breakers or the pathless 

deep. 
By ceaseless peril and by toil to gain 
A wretched pittance from the niggard main. 
And when the worn-out drudge old ocean 

leaves, 
What comfort greets him and what hut 

receives "i 
Lady ! the worst your presence ere has 

cheered — 
When want and sorrow fled as you ap- 
peared — 
Were to a Zetlander as the high dome 
Of proud Drumlanrig to my humble home. 
Here rise no groves and here no gardens 

blow, 
Here even the hardy heath scarce dares 

to grow; 
But rocks on rocks, in mist and storm 

arrayed. 
Stretch far to sea their giant colonnade, 
With many a cavern seamed, the dreary 

haunt 
Of the dun seal and swarthy cormorant. 
Wild round their rifted brows, with frequent 

cry 
As of lament, the gulls and gannets fly. 
And from their sable base with sullen 

sound 
In sheets of whitening foam the waves 

rebound. 

Yet even these coasts a touch of envy 

gain 
From those whose land has known oppres- 
sion's chain ; 
For here the industrious Dutchman comes 

once more 
To moor his fishing craft by Bressay's 

shore, 
Greets every former mate and brother tar, 
Marvels how Lerwick 'scaped the rage of 

war. 
Tells many a tale of Gallic outrage done, 
And ends by blessing God and Wellington. 
Here too the Greenland tar, a fiercer 

guest, 
Claims a brief hour of riot, not of rest ; 
Proves each wild frolic that in wine has 

birth, 



504 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And wakes the land with brawls and bois- 
terous mirth. 
A sadder sight on yon poor vessel's prow 
The captive Norseman sits in silent woe, 
And eyes the flags of Britain as they flow. 
Hard fate of war, which bade her terrors 

sway 
His destined course and seize so mean a 

prey, _ 
A bark with planks so warped and seams 

so riven 
She scarce might face the gentlest airs of 

heaven : 
Pensive he sits, and questions oft if none 
Can list his speech and understand his 

moan ; 
In vain — no Islesman now can use the 

tongue 
Of the bold Norse from whom their lineage 

sprung. 
Not thus of old the Norsemen hither came, 
Won by the love of danger or of fame ; 
On every storm-beat cape a shapeless 

tower 
Tells of their wars, their conquests, and 

their power ; 
For ne'er for Grecia's vales nor Latian 

land 
Was fiercer strife than for this barren 

strand ; 
A race severe, the isle and ocean lords 
Loved for its own delight the strife of 

swords ; 
With scornful laugh the mortal pang defied. 
And blest their gods that they in battle 

died. 



Such were the sires of Zetland's simple 

race, 
And still the eye may faint resemblance 

trace 
In the blue eye, tall form, proportion fair, 
The limbs athletic, and the long light hair — 
Such was the mien, as Scald and Minstrel 

sings, 
Of fair-haired Harold, first of Norway's 

Kings ; — 
But their high deeds to scale these crags 

confined. 
Their only welfare is with waves and wind. 



Why should I talk of Mousa's castle 
coast .'' 

Why of the horrors of the Sunburgh Rost? 

May not these bald disjointed lines suffice, 

Penned while my comrades whirl the rat- 
tling dice — 

While down the cabin skylight lessening 
shine 



The rays, and eve is chased with mirth and 

wine.'* 
Imagined, while down Mousa's desert 

bay 
Our well-trimmed vessel urged her nimble 

way. 
While to the freshening breeze she leaned 

her side. 
And bade her bowsprit kiss the foamy tide ? 

Such are the lays that Zetland Isles 
supply; 
Drenched with the drizzly spray and drop- 
ping sky, 
Weary and wet, a sea-sick minstrel I. 

W. Scott. 



Postscrijjtum. 

Kirkwall, Orkney, Aug. 13, 1814. 

In respect that your Grace has com- 
missioned a Kraken, 
You will please be informed that they seldom 

are taken ; 
It is January two years, the Zetland folks 

say. 
Since they saw the last Kraken in Scalloway 

bay ; 
He lay in the offing a fortnight or more, 
But the devil a Zetlander put from the 

shore. 
Though bold in the seas of the North to 

assail 
The morse and the sea-horse, the grampus 

and whale. 
If your Grace thinks I 'm writing the thing 

that is not. 
You may ask at a namesake of ours, Mr. 

Scott — 
He 's not from our clan, though his merits 

deserve it. 
But springs, 1 'm informed, from the Scotts 

of Scotstarvet ; — 
He questioned the folks who beheld it with 

eyes. 
But they differed confoundedly as to its 

size. 
For instance, the modest and diffident 

swore 
That it seemed like the keel of a ship and 

no more — 
Those of eyesight more clear or of fancy 

more high 
Said it rose like an island 'twixt ocean and 

sky — 
But all of the hulk had a steady opinion 
That 't was sure a live subject of Nej^tune's 

dominion — 
And I think, my Lord Duke, your Grace 

hardly would wish, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



505 



To cumber your house, such a kettle of 

fish. 
Had your order related to night-caps or 

hose 
Or mittens of worsted, there 's plenty of 

those. 
Or would you be pleased but to fancy a 

whale ? 
And direct me to send it — by sea or by 

mail ? 
The season, I 'm told, is nigh over, but 

still 
I could get you one fit for the lake at Bow- 
hill. 
Indeed, as to whales, there 's no need to 

be thrifty. 
Since one day last fortnight two hundred 

and fifty, 
Pursued by ^even Orkneymen's boats and 

no more, 
Betwixt Truffness and Luffness were drawn 

on the shore ! 
You '11 ask if I saw this same wonderful 

sight ; 
I own that I did not, but easily might — 
For this mighty shoal of leviathans lay 
On our lee-beam a mile, in the loop of the 

bay, 
And the islesmen of Sanda were all at the 

spoil, 
And Jiinching — so term it — the blubber 

to boil ; — 
Ye spirits of lavender, drown the reflec- 
tion 
That awakes at the thoughts of this odorous 

dissection. — 
To see this huge marvel full fain would we 

go, 
But Wilson, the wind, and the current said 

no. 
We have now got to Kirkwall, and needs I 

must stare 
When I think that in verse I have once 

called it fair; 
'Tis a base little borough, both dirty and 

mean — 
There is nothing to hear and there 's naught 

to be. seen. 
Save a church wherg of old times a prelate 

harangued. 
And a pftlace that 's built by an earl that 

was hanged. 
But farewell to Kirkwall — aboard we are 

going. 
The anchor s a-peak and the breezes are 

blowing ; 
Our commodore calls all his band to their 

places. 
And 'tis time to release you — good-night 

to your Graces ! 



jFarefaieU to iHackcn^ie, 

HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL. 



FROM THE GAELIC. 



[1815.] 

Farewell to Mackenneth, great Earl of 

the North, 
The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, and 

Seaforth ; 
To the Chieftain this morning his course 

who began. 
Launching forth on the billows his bark 

like a swan. 
For a far foreign land he has hoisted his 

sail, 
Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of 

Kintail ! 



O, swift be the galley and hardy her 

crew. 
May her captain be skilful, her mariners 

true. 
In danger undaunted, unwearied by toil. 
Though the whirlwind should rise and the 

ocean should boil : 
On the brave vessel's gunnel I drank his 

bonail. 
And farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of 

Kintail ! 



Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet south- 
land gale ! 

Like the sighs of his people, breathe soft 
on his sail ; 

Be prolonged as regret that his vassals 
must know. 

Be fair as their faith and sincere as their 
woe : 

Be so soft and so fair and so faithful, sweet 
gale, 

Wafting onward Mackenzie, High Chief of 
Kintail ! 



Be his pilot experienced and trusty and 

wise. 
To measure the seas and to study the 

skies : 
May he hoist all his canvas from streamer 

to deck. 
But O ! crowd it higher when wafting him 

back — 
Till the clifTs of Skooroora and Conan's 

glad vale 
Shall welcome Mackenzie, High Chief of 

Kintail ! 



5o6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



imitation 

OF THE PRECEDING SONG. 

[1815.] 

So sung the old bard in the grief of his 

heart 
When he saw his loved lord from his 

people depart. 
Now mute on thy mountains, O Albyn, are 

heard 
Nor the voice of the song nor the harp of 

the bard ; 
Or its strings are but waked by the stern 

winter gale, 
As they mourn for Mackenzie, last Chief 

of Kintail. 

From the far Southland Border a minstrel 

came forth, 
And he waited the hour that some bard of 

the north 
His hand on the harp of the ancient should 

cast, 
And bid its wild numbers mix high with 

the blast; 
But no bard was there left in the land of 

the Gael 
To lament for Mackenzie, last Chief of 

Kintail. 

'And shalt thou then sleep.' did the min- 
strel exclaim, 

' Like the son of the lowly, unnoticed by 
fame ? 

No, son of Fitzgerald ! in accents of woe 

The song thou hast loved o'er thy coffin 
shall flow, 

And teach thy wild mountains to join in 
the wail 

That laments for Mackenzie, last Chief of 
Kintail. 

' In vain, the bright course of thy talents 

to wrong, 
Fate deadened thine ear and imprisoned 

thy tongue ; 
For brighter o'er all her obstructions arose 
The glow of the genius they could not 

oppose ; 
And who in the land of the Saxon or Gael 
jht match wi 

of Kintail? 

■ Thy sons rose around thee in light and in 

love, 
All a father could hope, all a friend could 

approve ; 
What 'vails it the tale of thy sorrows to 

tell, — 



In the spring-time of youth and of promise 

they fell ! 
Of the line of Fitzgerald remains not a 

male 
To bear the proud name of the Chief of 

Kintail. 



' And thou, gentle dame, who must bear to 

thy grief 
For thy clan and thy country the cares of 

a chief, 
Whom brief rolling moons in six changes 

have left. 
Of thy husband and father and brethren 

bereft. 
To thine ear of affection how sad is the 

hail 
That salutes thee the heir of the line of 

Kintail ! ' 



Sar = Song of Eacfjian. 

HIGH CHIEF OF MACLEAN. 



FROM THE GAELIC. 



[,815.] 

A WEARY month has wandered o'er 
Since last we parted on the shore ; 
Heaven ! that I saw thee, love, once more, 

Safe on that shore again ! — 
'T was valiant Lachlan gave the word : 
Lachlan, of many a galley lord : 
He called his kindred bands on board, 

And launched them on the main. 



Clan-Gillian is to ocean gone ; 
Clan-Gillian, fierce in foray known ; 
Rejoicing in the glory won 

In many a bloody broil : 
For wide is heard the thundering fray, 
The rout, the ruin, the dismay. 
When from the twilight glens awav 

Clan-Gillian drives the spoil, y 



Woe to the hills that shall rebound 

Our bannered bag-pipes' maddening sound ! 

Clan-Gillian's onset echoing round. 

Shall shake their inmost cell. 
Woe to the bark whose crew shall gaze 
Where Lachlan's silken streamer plays ! 
The fools might face the lightning's blaze 

As wiselj' and as well ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



507 



Saint ClautJ. 

[Paris, 5th September, 1815.] 

Soft spread the southern summer night 

Her veil of darksome blue ; 
Ten thousand stars combined to light 

The terrace of Saint Cloud. 

The evening breezes gently sighed, 

Like breath of lover true, 
Bewailing the deserted pride 

And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud. 

The drum's deep roll was heard afar, 

The bugle wildly blew 
Good-night to Hulan and Hussar 

That garrison Saint Cloud. 

The startled Naiads from the shade 

With broken urns withdrew, 
And silenced was that proud cascade, 

The glory of Saint Cloud. 

We sate upon its steps of stone, 

Nor could its silence rue, 
When waked to music of our own 

The echoes of Saint Cloud. 

Slow Seine might hear each lovely note 

Fall light as summer dew, 
While through the moonless air they float. 

Prolonged from fair Saint Cloud. 

And sure a melody more sweet 

His waters never knew, 
Though music's self was wont to meet 

With princes at Saint Cloud. 

Nor then with more delighted ear 

The circle round her drew 
Than ours, when gathered round to hear 

Our songstress at Saint Cloud. 

Few happy hours poor mortals pass, — 
Then give those hours their due, 

And rank among the foremost class 
Our evenings at Saint Cloud. 



STfje BatiK of ©catfj. 
[1815.] 

Night and morning were at meeting 

Over Waterloo ; 
Cocks had sung their earliest greeting ; 

Faint and low they crew. 
For no paly beam yet shone 



On the heights of Mount Saint John ; 
Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway 
Of timeless darkness over day ; 
Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower 
Marked it a predestined hour. 
Broad and frequent through the night 
Flashed the sheets of levin-light ; 
Muskets, glancing lightnings back, 
Showed the dreary bivouac 

Where the soldier lay, 
Chill and stiff and drenched with rain. 
Wishing dawn of morn again. 

Though death should come with day. 

'T is at such a tide and hour 
Wizard, witch, and fiend have power. 
And ghastly forms through mist and shower 

Gleam on the gifted ken ; 
And then the affrighted prophet's ear 
Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear. 
Presaging death and ruin ne^r 

Among the sons of men ; — 
Apart from Albyn's war-array, 
'T was then gray Allan sleepless lay ; 
Gray Allan, who for many a day 

Had followed stout and stern, 
Where, through battle's rout and reel. 
Storm of shot and edge of steel. 
Led the grandson of Lochiel, 

Valiant Fassiefern. 
Through steel and shot he leads no more, 
Low laid mid friends' and foemen's gore — 
But long his native lake's wild shore, 
And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower, 

And Morven long shall tell. 
And proud Bennevis hear with awe, 
How upon bloody Quatre-Bras 
Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra 

Of conquest as he fell. 

Lone on the outskirts of the host. 

The weary sentinel held post. 

And heard through darkness far aloof 

The frequent clang of courser's hoof. 

Where held the cloaked patrol their course 

And spurred 'gainst storm the swerving 

horse ; 
But there are sounds in Allan's ear 
Patrol nor sentinel may hear, 
And sights before his eye aghast 
Invisible to them have passed, 

When down the destined plain, 
'Twixt Britain and the bands of France. 
Wild as marsh-borne meteor's glance, 
Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance 

And doomed the future slain. 
Such forms were seen, such sounds were 

heard, 
When Scotland's James his march prepared 

For Flodden's fatal plain ; 



5o8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Such, when he drew his ruthless sword, 
As Choosers of the Slain, adored 

The yet unchristened Dane. 
An indistinct and phantom band, 
They wheeled their ring-dance hand in 
hand 

With gestures wild and dread ; 
The Seer, who watched them ride the 

storm, 
Saw through their faint and shadowy form 

The lightning's flash more red ; 
And stili their ghastly roundelay 
Was of the coming battle-fray 

And of the destined dead. 

Song. 

Wheel the wild dance 
While lightnings glance 

And thunders rattle loud, 
And call the brave 
To bloody grave, 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Our airy feet. 
So light and fleet, 

They do not bend the rye 
That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave. 
And swells again in eddying wave 

As each wild gust blows by ; 
But still the corn 
At dawn of morn 

Our fatal steps that bore, 
At eve lies waste, 
A trampled paste 

Of blackening mud and gore. 

Wheel the wild dance 
While lightnings glance 

And thunder^ rattle loud, 
And call the brave 
To bloody grave, 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Wheel the wild dance ! 
Brave sons of France, 

For you our ring makes room ; 
Make space full wide 
P'or martial pride. 

For banner, spear, and plume. 
Approach, draw near. 
Proud cuirassier ! 

Room for the men of steel ! 
Through crest and plate 
The broadsword's weight 

Both head and heart shall feel. 

Wheel the wild dance 
While lightnings glance 
And thunders rattle loud, 



And call the brave 
To bloody grave. 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Sons of the spear ! 
You feel us ne9.r 

In many a ghastly dream ; 
With fancy's eye 
Our forms you spy, 

And hear our fatal scream. 
With clearer sight 
Ere falls the night. 

Just when to weal or woe 
Your disembodied souls take flight 
On trembling wing — each startled sprite 

Our choir of death shall know. 

Wheel the wild dance 
While lightnings glance 

And thunders rattle loud, 
And call the brave 
To bloody grave. 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers, 
Redder rain shall soon be ours — 

See the east grows wan — 
Yield we place to sterner game. 
Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame 
Shall the welkin's thunders shame ; 
Elemental rage is tame 

To the wrath of man. 

At morn, gray Allan's mates with awe 
Heard of the visioned sights he saw. 

The legend heard him say ; 
But the Seer's gifted eye was dim, 
Deafened his ear and stark his limb, 

Ere closed that bloody day — 
He sleeps far from his Highland heath, — 
But often of the Dance of Death 

His comrades tell the tale, 
On picquet-post when ebbs the night. 
And waning watch-fires glow less bright. 

And dawn is glimmering pale. 



i^amanrc of ©unofs. 

FROM THE FRENCH. 
[1815.] 

It was Dunois, the young and brave, was 

bound for Palestine, 
But first he made his orisons before Saint 

Mary's shrine : 
' And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven," 

was still the soldier's prayer, 
' That I may prove the bravest knight and 

love the fairest fair.' 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



509 



His oath of honor on the shrine he graved 
it with his sword, 

And followed to the Holy Land the banner 
of his Lord ; 

Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war- 
cry filled the air, 

' Be honored aye the bravest knight, be- 
loved the fairest fair.' 



They owed the conquest to his arm, and 
then his liege-lord said, 

' The heart that has for honor beat by bliss 
must be repaid. 

My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a 
wedded pair. 

For thou art bravest of the brave, she fair- 
est of the fair.' 

And then they bound the holy knot before 
Saint Mary's shrine 

That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts 
and hands combine ; 

And every lord and lady bright that were 
in chapel there 

Cried, ' Honored be the bravest knight, be- 
loved the fairest fair ! ' 



FROM THE SAME COLLECTION. 

: [1S15.] 

Glowing with love, on fire for fame, 

A Troubadour that hated sorrow 
Beneath his lady's window came. 

And thus he sung his last good-morrow 
' My arm it is my country's right. 

My heart is in my true-love's bower; 
Gayly for love and fame to fight 

Befits the gallant Troubadour.' 



And while he marched with helm on head 

And harp in hand, the descant rung. 
As, faithful to his favorite maid, 

The minstrel-burden still he sung : 
' My arm it is my country's right. 

My heart is in my lady's bower; 
Resolved for love and fame to fight, 

I come, a gallant Troubadour.' 

Even when the battle-roar was deep, 
With dauntless heart he hewed his way, 

Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep, 
And still was heard his warrior-lay : 



' My life it is my country's right. 
My heart is in my lady's bower ; 

For love to die, for fame to fight. 
Becomes the valiant Troubadour." 

Alas ! upon the bloody field 

He fell beneath the foeman's glaive, 
But still reclining on his shield. 

Expiring sung the exulting stave : 
' My life it is my country's right, 

My heart is in my lady's bower ; 
For love and fame to fall in fight 

Becomes the valiant Troubadour.' 



JFrom tfje jFrcnci)- 

[1S15.] 

It chanced that Cupid on a season. 
By Fancy urged, resolved to wed. 

But could not settle whether Reason 
Or Folly should partake his bed. 

What does he then ? — Upon my life, 
'T was bad example for a deity — 

He takes me Reason for a wife. 
And Folly for his hours of gayety. 

Though thus he dealt in petty treason, ' 
He loved them both in equal measure ; 

Fidelity was born of Reason, 

And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure. 



ON THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER OF THE 
HOUSE OF BUCCLEUCH, AT A GREAT FOOT- 
BALL MATCH ON CARTERHAUGH. 

[1815.] 

From the brown crest of Newark its sum- 
mons extending. 
Our signal is waving in smoke and in 
flame ; 
And each forester blithe, from his mountain 
descending. 
Bounds light o'er the heather to join in 
the game. 
Then up with the Banner, let forest 
winds fan her, 
She has blazed over Ettrick eight 
ages and more ; 
In sport we '11 attend her, in battle de- 
fend her, 
With heart and with hand, like our 
fathers before. 



5IO 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




When the Southern invader spread waste 
and disorder, 
At the glance of her crescents he paused 
and withdrew, 
For around them were marshalled the pride 
of the Border, 
The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of 

BUCCLEUCH. 

A stripling's weak hand to our revel has 
borne her, 
No mail-glove has grasped her, no spear 
men surround ; 
But ere a bold foeman should scathe or 
should scorn her 
A thousand true hearts would be cold on 
the ground. 

We forget each contention of civil dissen- 
sion, 
And hail, like our brethren, Home. 
Douglas, and Car : " 
And Elliot and Pringle in pastime shall 
mingle. 
As welcome in peace as tlieir fathers in 
war. 

Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be 
the weather, 
And if by mischance you* should happen 
to fall, 



There are worse things in life than a tum- 
ble on heather. 
And life is itself but a game at foot-ball. 

And when it is over we' 11 drink a blithe 
measure 
To each laird and each lady that wit- 
nessed our fun. 
And to every blithe heart that took part in 
our pleasure. 
To the lads that have lost and the lads 
that have won. 

May the Forest still Hourish, both Borough 
and Landward, 
From the hall of the peer to the herd's 
ingle-nook : 
And huzza ! my brave hearts, for Buc- 
CLEUCH and his standard. 
For the King and the Country, the Clan 
and the Duke ! 
Then up with the Banner, let forest 
winds fan her. 
She has blazed over Ettrick eight 
ages and more ; 
In sport we '11 attend her. in battle de- 
fend her. 
With heart and witli hand, like our 
fathers before. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



511 



ILuUabg of an jinfant (JIf}{ef. 

[.S.5.] 

Air — " Cadul gti lo." 

O, HUSH thee, my babie, thy sire was a 

knight, 
Thy mother a lady both lovely and bright ; 
The woods and the glens, from the towers 

which we see, 
They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. 
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo, 
O ho ro, i ri ri, etc. 

O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it 

blows. 
It calls but the warders that guard thy 

repose ; 
Their bows would be bended, their blades 

would be red. 
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to 

thy bed. 

O ho ro, i ri ri, etc. 

O, hush thee, my babie, the time soon will 

come, 
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet 

and drum ; 
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while 

you may. 
For strife comes with manhood and waking 

with day. 

O ho ro, i ri ri, etc. 



Cfje Eeturn to mister. 
[1S16.] 

OxcE again, — but how changed since my 
wanderings began — 

I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan 
and Bann, 

And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to 
the roar 

That wearies the echoes of fair Tullamore. 

Alas ! my poor bosom, and why shouldst 
thou burn ! 

With the scenes of my youth can its rap- 
tures return ? 

Can I live the dear life of delusion again, 

That flowed when these echoes first mixed 
with my strain .'' 

It was then that around me, though poor 

and unknown, 
High spells of mysterious enchantment 
'^ were thrown ; 



The streams were of silver, of diamond the 

dew, 
The land was an Eden, for fancy was new. 
I had heard of our bards, and my soul was 

on fire 
At the rush of their verse and the sweep 

of their lyre : 
To me 'twas not legend nor tale to the 

ear. 
But a vision of noontide, distinguished and 

clear. 

Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the call. 
And renewed the wild pomp of the chase 

and the hall ; 
And the standard of Fion flashed fierce 

from on high, 
Like a burst of the sun when the tempest 

is nigh. 
It seemed that the harp of green Erin once 

more 
Could renew all the glories she boasted of 

yore. — 
Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, 

shouldst thou burn ? 
They were days of delusion and cannot 

return. 

But was she, too, a phantom, the maid who 

stood by, 
And listed my lay while she turned from 

mine eye .-^ 
Was she, too, a vision, just glancing to 

view. 
Then dispersed in the sunbeam or melted 

to dew .'' 
O, would it had been so! — O, would that 

her eye 
Had been but a star-glance that shot through 

the sky. 
And her voice that was moulded to melody's 

thrill. 
Had been but a zephyr that sighed and was 

still ! 

O, would it had been so ! — not then this 

poor heart 
Had learned the sad lesson, to love and to 

part ; ' 

To bear unassisted its burden of care. 
While I toiled for the wealth I had no one 

to share. 
Not then had I said, when life's summer 

was done 
And the hours of her autumn were fast 

speeding on, 
' Take the fame and the riches ye brought 

in your train. 
And restore m« the dream of my spring- 
tide again.' 



512 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



3ock of f^a}£ltjean. 

[iSi6.] 
Air — "A Border Melody,'" 

' Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? 

Why weep ye by the tide ? 
I '11 wed ye to my youngest son, 

And ye sail be his bride : 
And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 

Sae comely to be seen ' — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

' Now let this wilfu' grief be done. 

And dry that cheek so pale ; 
Young Frank is chief of Errington 

And lord of Langley-dale ; 
His step is first in peaceful ha', 

His sword in battle keen ' — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

' A chain of gold ye sail not lack, 

Nor braid to bind your hair; 
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 

Nor palfrey fresh and fair; . 
And you, the foremost o' them a'. 

Shall ride our forest queen.' — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

The kirk was decked at morning-tide, 

The tapers glimmered fair ; 
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride. 

And dame and knight are there. 
They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; 

The ladie was not seen ! 
She 's o'er the Border and avva' 

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 



Pibrocl) of ©onalti II9f)u. 

[1816.] 

Air — " Piobair of Donuil Dhuidh." 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Pibroch of Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew, 

Summon Clan Conuil. 
Come away, come away. 

Hark to the summons ! 
Come in your war array, 

Gentles and commons. 

Come from deejj glen and 
From mountain so rocky, 



The war-pipe and pennon 

Are at Inverlochy. 
Come every hill-plaid and 

True heart that wears one, 
Come every steel blade and 

Strong hand that bears one. 

Leave untended the herd. 

The flock without shelter ; 
Leave the corpse uninterred. 

The bride at the altar ; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer. 

Leave nets and barges : 
Come with your fighting gear, 

Broadswords and targes. 

Come as the winds come when 

Forests are rended ; 
Come as the waves come when 

Navies are stranded : 
Faster come, faster come. 

Faster and faster. 
Chief, vassal, page and groom. 

Tenant and master. 

Fast they come, fast they come ; 

See how they gather ! 
Wide waves the eagle plume. 

Blended with heather. 
Cast your plaids, draw your blades. 

Forward each man, set! 
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Knell for the onset ! 



i^ora's Uoto. 

WRITTEN FOR ALBYN's ANTHOLOGY. 

[i8t6.] 
Air — " Cha teid mis a cliaoidk. " 

Hear what Highland Nora said, 
' The Earlie's son I will not wed, 
Should all the race of nature die 
And none be left but he and L 
For all the gold, for all the gear, 
And all the lands both far and near. 
That ever valor lost or won, 
I would not wed the Earlie's son.' 

' A maiden's vows,' old Callum spoke, 
' Are lightly made and lightly broke ; 
The heather on the mountain's height 
Begins to bloom in purple light ; 
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away 
That lustre deep from glen and brae ; 
Yet Nora ere its bloom be gone 
May blithely wed the Earlie's son.' 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



513 



'The swan,' she said, 'the lake's clear breast 
May barter for the eagle's nest ; 
The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, 
Ben-Cruaichan fall and crush Kilchurn ; 
Our kilted clans when blood is high 
Before their foes may turn and fly ; 
But I, were all these marvels done, 
Would never wed the Earlie's son.' 



Still in the water-lily's shade 
Her wonted nest the wild-swan made ; 
Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever, 
Still downward foams the Awe's fierce 

river ; 
To shun the clash of foeman's steel 
No Highland brogue has turned the heel ; 
But Nora's heart is lost and won — 
She 's wedded to the Earlie's son ! 



JHac^r^rfor's ©ati^ering. 

WRITTEN FOR ALBYN's ANTHOLOGY. 

[1816.] 

Air — " Thaiii' a Grigalach." 

The moon 's on the lake and the mist "s on 

the brae, • 
And the Clan has a name that is nameless 
by day ; 
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach ! 
Gather, gather, gather, etc. 

Our signal for fight, that from monarchs 

we drew. 
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful 
haloo ! 
Then haloo, Grigalach ! haloo. Griga- 
lach ! 
Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach, etc. 

Glen Orchy's proud mountains. Coalchurn 

and her towers, 
Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours ; 
We 're landless, landless, landless, 

Grigalach ! 
Landless, landless, landless, etc. 



But doomed and devoted by vassal and 

lord, 
MacGregor has still both his heart and his 
sword ! 
Then courage, courage, courage, Grig- 
alach ! 
Courage, courage, courage, etc. 



If they rob us of name and pursue us with 

beagles, 
Give their roofs to the flame and their flesh 
to the eagles ! 
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, 

Grigalach ! 
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, etc. 

While there 's leaves in the forest and foam 

on the river, 
MacGregor, despite them, shall flourish 
forever ! 
Come then, Grigalach, come then, 

Grigalach ! 
Come then, come then, come then, etc. 

Through the depths of Loch Katrine the 

steed shall career. 
O'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the galley 

shall steer, 
And the rocks of Craig-Royston like icicles 

melt, 
Ere our wrongs be forgot or our vengeance 

unfelt. 
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach I 
Gather, gather, gather, etc. 



FersES 

COMPOSED FOR THE OCCASION, ADAPTED TO HAYDn's 
AIR, "god save the EMPEROR FRANCIS," AND SUNG 
BY A SELECT BAND AFTER THE DINNER GIVEN BY 
THE LORD PROVOST OF EDINBURGH TO THE GRAND- 
DUKE NICHOLAS OF RUSSIA, AND HIS SUITE, 19TH 
DECEMBER, 1S16. 

God protect brave Alexander, 
Heaven defend the noble Czar, 
Mighty Russia's high Commander, 
First in Europe's banded war: 
For the realms he did deliver 
From the tyrant overthrown. 
Thou, of every good the Giver, 
Grant him long to bless his own ! 
Bless him, mid his land's disaster 
For her rights who battled brave ; 
Of the land of foemen master, 
Bless him who their wrongs forgave. 

O'er his just resentment victor, 
Victor over Europe's foes, 
Late and long supreme director. 
Grant in peace his reign may close. 
Hail ! then, hail ! illustrious stranger ! 
Welcome to our mountain strand; 
Mutual interests, hopes, and danger, 
Link us with thy native land. 
Freemen's force or false beguiling 
Shall that union ne'er divide, 
Hand in hand while peace is smiling. 
And in battle side by side. 



33 



514 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



2rf)e Searc]^ after ^^appiness; 

OR, THE QUEST OF SULTAUN SOLIMAUN. 

[1817.] 

O, FOR a glance of that gay Muse's eye 
That lightened on Bandello's laughing 

tale, 
And twinkled with a lustre shrewd and 

sly 
When Giam Battista bade her vision 

hail! — 
Yet fear not, ladies, the naive detail 
Given by the natives of that land cano- 
rous ; 
Italian license loves to leap the pale, 
We Britons have the fear of shame be- 
fore us, 
And, if not wise in mirth, at least must be 
decorous. 

In the far eastern clime, no great while 

since, 
Lived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty prince. 
Whose eyes, as oft as they performed their 

round, 
Beheld all others fixed upon the ground ; 
Whose ears received the same unvaried 

phrase, 
' Sultaun ! thy vassal hears and he obeys ! ' 
All have their tastes — this may the fancy 

strike 
Of such grave folks as pomp and grandeur 

like ; 
For me, I love the honest heart and warm 
Of monarch who can amble round his farm. 
Or, when the toil of state no more annoys, 
In chimney corner seek domestic joys — 
I love a prince will bid the bottle pass. 
Exchanging with his subjects glance and 

glass ; 
In fitting time can, gayest of the gay. 
Keep up the jest and mingle in the lay — 
Such monarchs best our free-born humors 

suit, 
But despots must be stately, stern, and mute. 

This Solimaun Serendib had in sway — 
And where 's Serendib ? may some critic 

say. — 
Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the 

chart. 
Scare not my Pegasus before I start ! 
If Rennell has it not, you'll find mayhap 
The isle laid down in Captain Sindbad's 

map — 
Famed mariner, whose merciless narrations 
Drove every friend and kinsman out of 

patience, 



Till, fain to find a guest who thought them 

shorter, 
He deigned to tell them over to a porter — 
The last edition see, by Long, and Co., 
Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers in the 

Row. 



Serendib found, deem not my tale a fic- 
tion — 
This Sultaun, whether lacking contradic- 
tion — 
A sort of stimulant which hath its uses 
To raise the spirits and reform the juices. 
Sovereign specific for all sorts of cures 
In my wife's practice and perhaps in yours — 
The Sultaun lacking this same wholesome 

bitter. 
Or cordial smooth for prince's palate fitter — 
Or if some Mollah had hag-rid his dreams 
With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wild 

themes 
Belonging to the Mollah's subtle craft, • 
I wot not — but the Sultaun never laughed, 
Scarce ate or drajik, and took a melancholy 
That scorned all remedy profane or holy ; 
In his long list of melancholies, mad 
Or mazed or dumb, hath Burton none so 
bad. 



Physicians soon arrived, sage, ware, and 

tried, 
As e'er scrawled jargon in a darkened 

room ; 
With heedful glance the Sultaun's tongue 

they eyed. 
Peeped in his bath and God knows where 

beside, 
And then in solemn accent spoke their 

doom, 
' His majesty is very far from well.' 
Then each to work with his specific 

fell: 
The Hakim Ibrahim iustaiiter brought 
His unguent Mahazzim al Zerdukkaut, 
While Roompot, a practitioner more wily, 
Relied on his Munaskif al fillfily. 
More and yet more in deep array appear. 
And some the front assail and some the 

rear ; 
Their remedies to reinforce and vary 
Came surgeon eke, and eke apothecary ; 
Till the tired monarch, though of words 

grown chary. 
Yet dropt, to recompense their fruitless 

labor. 
Some hint about a bowstring or a sabre. 
There lacked, I promise you, no longer 

speeches 
To rid the palace of those learned leeches. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



515 



Then was the council called — by their 

advice — 
They deemed the matter ticklish all and nice, 
And sought to shift it off from their own 

shoulders — 
Tartars and couriers in all speed were sent, 
To call a sort of Eastern Parliament 

Of feudatory chieftains and freeholders — 
Such have the Persians at this very day. 
My gallant Malcolm calls them coicrotil- 

tai; — 
I 'm not prepared to show in this slight 

song 
That to Sei^endib the same forms belong — 
E'en let the learned go search, and tell me 

if I 'm wrong;. 



The Omrahs, each with hand on scimitar. 

Gave, like Sempronius, still their voice for 
war — 

' The sabre of the Sultaun in its sheath 

Too long has slept nor owned the work of 
death ; 

Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle, 

Bang the loud gong and raise the shout of 
battle ! 

This dreary cloud that dims our sovereign's 
day 

Shall from his kindled bosom flit away, 

When the bold Lootie wheels his courser 
round 

And the armed elephant shall shake the 
ground. 

Each noble pants to own the glorious sum- 
mons — 

And for the charges — Lo ! your faithful 
Commons ! ' 

The Riots who attended in their places — 
Serendib language calls a farmer Riot — 

Looked ruefully in one another's faces, 
^'rom this oration auguring much disquiet, 

Double assessment, forage, and free quar- 
ters; 

And fearing these as Chinamen the Tartars, 

Or as the whiskered vermin fear the 
mousers. 

Each fumbled in the pocket of his trousers. 

And next came forth the reverend Convo- 
cation, 
Bald heads, white beards, and many a 
turban green, 
Imaum and Mollah there of every station, 
Santon, Fakir, and Calendar were seen. 
Their votes were various — some advised 
a mosque 
With fitting revenues should be erected. 
With seemly gardens and with gay kiosque, 
To recreate a band of priests selected ; 



Others opined that through the realms a 

dole 
Be made to holy men, whose prayers 

might profit 
The Sultaun's weal in body and in soul. 
But their long-headed chief, the Sheik 

Ul-Sofit, 
More closely touched the point ; — ' Thy 

studious mood,' 
Quoth he, ' O Prince ! hath thickened all 

thy blood. 
And dulled thy brain with labor beyond 

measure ; 
Wherefore relax a space and take thy 

pleasure. 
And toy with beauty or tell o'er thy 

treasure ; 
From all the cares of state, my liege, en- 
large thee, 
And leave the burden to thy faithful 

clergy.' 

These counsels sage availed not a whit. 
And so the patient — as is not un- 
common 
Where grave physicians lose their time and 
wit — 
Resolved to take advice of an old 
woman ; 
His mother she, a dame who once was 

beauteous, 
And still was called so by each subject 

duteous. 
Now, whether Fatima was witch in earnest. 

Or only made believe, I cannot say — 

Rut she professed to cure disease the 

sternest, 

By dint of magic arriulet or lay ; 

And, when all other skill in vain was shown. 

She deemed it fitting time to use her own. 

' Sympathia magica hath wonders done ' — 
Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son — 
' It works upon the fibres and the pores. 
And thus insensibly our health restores. 
And it must help us here. — Thou must 

endure 
The ill, my son, or travel for the cure. 
Search land and sea, and get where'er you 

can 
The inmost vesture of a happy man, 
I mean his shirt, my son ; which, taken 

warm 
And fresh from off his back, shall chase 

your harm. 
Bid every current of your veins rejoice, 
And your dull heart leap light as shepherd- 
boy's.' 
Such was the counsel from his mother 
came ; — 



5i6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



I know not if she had some under-game, 

As doctors have, who bid their patients 
roam 

And live abroad when sure to die at home; 

Or if she thought that, somehow or another, 

Queen-Regent sounded better than Queen- 
Mother ; 

But, says the Chronicle — who will go look 
it — 

That such was her advice — the Sultaun 
took it. 

All are on board - the Sultaun and his 
train, 

In gilded galley prompt to plough the main. 
The old Rais was the first who ques- 
tioned, 'Whither?' 

They paused — 'Arabia,' thought the pen- 
sive prince, 

' Was called The Happy many ages since — 
For Mokha, Rais.' — And they came 
safely thither. 

But not in Araby with all her balm, 

Not where Judea weeps beneath her palm. 

Not in rich Egypt, not in Nubian waste, 

Could there the step of happiness be traced. 

■One Copt alone professed to have seen her 
smile, 

When Bruce his goblet filled at infant 
Nile: 

She blessed the dauntless traveller as he 
quaffed, 

But vanished from him with the ended 
draught. 

' Enough of turbans,' said the weary King, 

'These dolimans of ours are not the thing; 

Try we the Giaours, these men of coat and 
cap, I 

Incline to think some of them must be 
happy ; 

At least, they have as fair a cause as any 
can, 

They drink good wine and keep no 
Ramazan. 

Then northward, ho ! ' — The vessel cuts 
the sea. 

And fair Italia lies upon her lee. — 

But fair Italia, she who once unfurled 

Her eagle-banners o'er a conquered world. 

Long from her throne of domination tum- 
bled, 

Lay by her quondam vassals sorely hum- 
bled ; 

The Pope himself looked pensive, pale, 
and lean, 

And was not half the man he once had 
been. 

' While these the priest and those the 
noble fleeces. 



Our poor old boot,' they said, ' is torn to 

pieces. 
Its tops the vengeful claws of Austria feel, 
And the Great Devil is rending toe and 

heel. 
If happiness you seek, to tell you truly, 
We think she dwells with one Giovanni 

Bulli ; 
A tramontane, a heretic — the buck, 
Poffaredio ! still has all the luck; 
By land or ocean never strikes his flag — 
And then — a perfect walking money-bag.' 
Off set our prince to seek John Bull's 

abode, 
But first took„ France — it lay upon the 

road. 

Monsieur Baboon after much late commo- 
tion 
Was agitated like a settling ocean. 
Quite out of sorts and could not tell what 

ailed him. 
Only the glory of his house had failed him ; 
Besides, some tumors on his noddle biding 
Gave indication of a recent hiding. 
Our prince, though Sultauns of such things 

are heedless, 
Thought it a thing indelicate and needless 
To ask if at that moment he was happy. 
And Monsieur, seeing that he was comme 

ilfant, a 
Loud voice mustered up, for • Vive le 

Roi .' ' 
Then whispered, ' Ave you any news of 

Nappy ? ' 
The Sultaun answered him with a cross 

question, — 
' Pray, can vou tell me aught of one John 

Bull, 
That dwells somewhere beyond your 

herring-pool ? ' 
The query seemed of difficult digestion,* 
The party shrugged and grinned and took 

his snuff. 
And found his whole good-breeding scarce 

enough. 

Twitching his visage into as many puckers 
As damsels wont to put into their tuckers — 
Ere liberal Fashion damned both lace and 

lawn. 
And bade the veil of modesty be drawn — 
Replied the Frenchman after a brief pause, 
' Jean Bool ! — I vas not know him — Yes, 

I vas — 
I vas remember dat, von year or two, 
I saw him at vcn place called Vaterloo — 
Ma foi ! il s'est >res joliment battu, 
Dat is for Englisi>man, - — m'entendez-vous .-' 
But den he had wit him one damn son-gun, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



517 



Rogue I no like — dey call him Vellington.' 
Monsieur's politeness could not hide his 

fret, 
So Solimaun took leave and crossed the 

strait. 

John Bull was in his very worst of moods, 
Raving of sterile farms and unsold goods ; 
His sugar-loaves and bales about he threw, 
And on his counter beat the devil's tattoo. 
His wars were ended and the victory 

won, 
But then 'twas reckoning-day with honest 

John ; 
And authors vouch, 't was still this worthy's 

way, 
' Never to grumble till he came to pay ; 
And then he always thinks, his temper 's 

such, 
The work too little and the pay too much.' 
Yet, grumbler as he is, so kind and 

hearty 
That when his mortal foe was on the floor. 
And past the power to harm his quiet 

more, 
Poor John had wellnigh wept for Bona- 
parte I 
Such was the wight whom Solimaun 

salamed, — 
' And who are you,' John answered, • and 

be d d?' 



' A stranger, come to see the happiest 

man — 
So, signior, all avouch — in Frangistan." 
' Happv ? my tenants breaking on my hand ; 
Unstocked my pastures and untilled my 

land ; 
Sugar and rum a drug, and mice and moths 
The sole consumers of my good broad- 
cloths — 
i^appy ? — Why, cursed war and racking 
tax 
Have left us scarcely raiment to our backs.' 
' In that case, signior, I may take my leave : 
I came to ask a favor — but 1 grieve ' — 
' Favor ? ' said John, and eyed the Sultaun 
hard, 

• It 's my belief you came to break the 

yard ! — 
But, stay, you look like some poor foreign 

sinner — 
Take that to buy yourself a shirt and 

dinner.' 
With that he chucked a guinea at his 

head; 
But with due dignity the Sultaun said, 

• Permit me, sir, your bounty to decline ; 
A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine. 



Signior, I kiss your hands, so fare you 

well.' 
' Kiss and be d d,' quoth John. ' and go 

to hell ! ' 



Next door to John there dwelt his sister 
Pe<^ 

Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg 

When the blithe bagpipe blew — but, so- 
berer now. 

She doncely span her flax and milked her 
cow. 

And whereas erst she was a needy slattern, 

Nor now of wealth or cleanliness a pattern, 

Yet once a month her house was partly 
swept, 

And once a week a plenteous board she 
kept. 

And whereas, eke, the vixen used her claws 
And teeth of yore on slender provocation, 

She now was grown amenable to laws, 
A quiet soul as any in the nation ; 

The sole remembrance of her warlike joys 

Was in old songs she sang to please her 
boys. 

John Bull, whom in their years of early 
strife 

She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life. 

Now found the woman, as he said, a 
neighbor. 

Who looked to the main chance, declined 
no labor. 

Loved a long grace and spoke a northern 
jargon. 

And was d d close in making of a bar- 
gain. 

The Sultaun entered, and he made his 

leg, 
And with decorum curtsied sister Peg — 
She loved a book, and knew a thing or two, 
And guessed at once with whom she had 

to do. 
She bade him ' Sit into the fire,' and took 
Her dram, her cake, her kebbuck from the 

nook ; 
Asked him 'about the news from Eastern 

parts : 
And of her absent bairns, puir Highland 

hearts ! 
If peace brouglit down the price of tea and 

pepper. 
And if the nittnugs were grown otiv 

cheaper; — 
Were there nae speerings of our Mungo 

Park — 
Ye '11 be the gentleman that wants the sark ? 
If ye wad buy a web o' auld wife's spinning, 
I '11 warrant ye it's a weel-wearing linen.' 



5i8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Then up got Peg and round the house 'gan 

scuttle 
In search of goods her customer to nail, 
Until the Sultaun strained his princely 

throttle, 
And holloed, • Ma'am, that is not what 

I ail. 
Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this snug 

glen ? ' 
' Happy ? ' said Peg : ' What for d' ye want 

to ken ? 
Besides, just think upon this by-gane year. 
Grain wadna pay the yoking of the 

pleugh.' 
' What say you to the present ? ' — ' Meal 's 

sae dear, 
To make their brosc my bairns have 

scarce aneugh.' 
' The devil take the shirt,' said Solimaun, 
' I think my quest will end as it began. — 
Farewell, ma'am ; nay, no ceremony, I 

beg' — 
' Ye '11 no be for the linen then ? ' said Peg. 



Now, for the land of verdant Erin 

The Sultaun's royal bark is steering, 

The Emerald Isle where honest Paddy 

dwells. 
The cousin of John Bull, as story tells. 
For a long space had John, with words of 

thunder. 
Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept Paddy 

under, 
Till the poor lad, like boy that 's flogged 

unduly, 
Had gotten somewhat restive artd unruly. 
Hard was his lot and lodging, you '11 allow, 
A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow; 
His landlord, and of middle-men two brace, 
Had screwed his rent up to the starving- 
place ; 
His garment was a top-coat and an old one. 
His meal was a potato and a cold one ; 
But still for fun or frolic and all that. 
In the round world was not the match of 
Pat. 

The Sultaun saw him on a holiday, 
Which is with Paddy still a jolly day : 
When mass is ended, and his load of sins 
Confessed, and Mother Church hath from 

her binns 
Dealt forth a bonus of imputed merit. 
Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, and 

spirit ! 
To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free. 
And dance as light as leaf upon the tree. 
' By Mahomet,' said Sultaun Solimaun, 
' That ragged fellow is our very man ! 



Rush in and seize him — do not do him hurt, 
But, will he nill he, let me have his shirt.' 

Shilela their plan was wellnigh after balk- 
ing — 

Much less provocation will set it a-walking — 

But the odds that foiled Hercules foiled 
Paddy Whack ; 

They seized, and they floored, and they 
stripped him — Alack ! 

Up-bubboo ! Paddy had not — a shirt to his 
back! 

And the king, disappointed, with sorrow 
and shame 

Went back to Serendib as sad as he came- 



iLinea 

WRITTEN FOR MISS SMITH. 
[1S17.] 

When the lone pilgrim views afar 
The shrine that is his guiding star. 
With awe his footsteps print the road 
Which the loved saint of yore has trod. 
As near he draws and yet more near. 
His dim eye sparkles with a tear ; 
The Gothic fape's unwonted show. 
The choral hymn, the tapers' glow. 
Oppress his soul ; while they delight 
And chasten rapture with affright. 
No longer dare he think his toil 
Can merit aught his patron's smile ; 
Too light appears the distant way, 
The chilly eve, the sultry day — 
All these endured no favor claim. 
But murmuring forth the sainted name, 
He lays his little offering down, 
And only deprecates a frown. 

We too who ply the Thespian art 
Oft feel such bodings of the heart. 
And when our utmost powers are strained 
Dare hardly hope your favor gained. 
She who from sister climes has sought 
The ancient land where Wallace fought — 
Land long renowned for arms and arts. 
And conquering eyes and dauntless hearts — 
She, as the flutterings here avow. 
Feels all the pilgrim's terrors now; 
Yet sure on Caledonian plain 
The stranger never sued in vain. 
'T is yours the hospitable task 
To give the applause she dare not ask ; 
And they who bid the pilgrim speed. 
The pilgrim's blessing be their meed. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



519 



|Hr. Eemble's JarEtocll ^tJlrress. 

ox TAKING LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGE. 
[iSi;.] 

As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's 

sound, 
Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws the 

ground — 
Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns, 
And longs to rush on the embattled lines, 
So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear. 
Can scarce sustain to think our parting near; 
To think my scenic hour forever past, 
And that those valued plaudits are my last. 
Why should we part, while still some 

powers remain. 
That in your service strive not yet in vain ? 
Cannot high zeal the strength of youth 

supply. 
And sense of duty fire the fading eye ; 
And all the wrongs of age remain subdued 
Beneath the burning glow of gratitude ? 
Ah, no ! the taper, wearing to its close, 
Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows ; 
But all too soon the transient gleam is past. 
It cannot be renewed, and will not last; 
Even duty, zeal, and gratitude can wage 
But short-lived conflict with the frosts of 

age. 
\es! It were poor, remembering what I 

was. 
To live a pensioner on your applause. 
To drain the dregs of your endurance dry, 
Aijd take, as alms, the praise I once could 

buy; 
Till every sneering youth around enquires, 
• Is this the man who once could please 

our sires ? ' 
And scorn assumes compassion's doubtful 

mien, 
To warn me off from the encumbered scene. 
This must not be ; — and higher duties 

crave 
Some space between the theatre and the 

grave, 
That, like the Roman in the Capitol, 
I may adjust my mantle ere I fall : 
My life's brief act in public service flown. 
The last, the closing scene, must be my 

own. 

Here, then, adieu ! while yet some well- 
graced parts 
May fix an ancient favorite in your hearts, 
Not quite to be forgotten, even when 
You look on better actors, younger men : 
And if your bosoms own this kindly debt 
Of old remembrance, how shall mine for- 
get — 



O, how forget ! — how oft I hither came 
In anxious hope, how oft returned with 

fame ! 
How oft around your circle this weak hand 
Has waved immortal Shakespeare's magic 

wand. 
Till the full burst of inspiration came. 
And I have felt, and you have fanned the 

flame ! 
By mem'ry treasured, while her reign 

endures. 
Those hours must live — and all their 

charms are yours. 

O favored Land ! renowned for arts and 

arms, 
For manly talent, and for female charms. 
Could this full bosom prompt the sinking 

line. 
What fervent benedictions now were thine I 
But my last part is played, my knell is 

rung, 
When e'en your praise falls faltering from 

my tongue ; 
And all that you can hear, or I can tell. 
Is — Friends and Patrons, hail, and fare 

YOU WELL. 



9Ef)e Sun upon tf)e ISlEeirtilato f^fll. 

[1817.] 

Air — " Rimhin ahdn 'stu mo riiii.^' 

The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill 

In Ettrick's vale is sinking sweet ; 
The westland wind is hush and still, 

The lake lies sleeping at my feet. 
Yet not the landscape to mine eye 

Bears those bright hues that once it bore. 
Though evening with her richest dye 

Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. 

With listless look along the plain 

I see Tweed's silver current glide, 
And coldly mark the holy fane 

Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. 
The quiet lake, the balmy air, 

The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree — 
Are they still such as once they were. 

Or is the dreary change in me ? 

Alas ! the warped and broken board. 

How can it bear the painter's dye .'' 
The harp of strained and tuneless chord. 

How to the minstrel's skill reply ? 
To aching eyes each landscape lowers. 

To feverish pulse each gale blows chill ; 
And Araby's or Eden's bowers 

Were barren as this moorland hill. 



520 



SCO'J'T'S POETICAL WORKS. 



3ri)E IKaiiks of Bantjor'g fKarcf). 

WRITTEN FOR MK. GEORGE THOMSON'S WELSH 
MELODIES. 

[.8.7.] 
Air — " Yindaitli Mimigc." 

When the heathen trumpet's clang 
Round beleaguered Chester rang, 
Veiled nun and friar gray 
Marched from Bangor's fair Abbaye ; 
High their holy anthem sounds, 
Cestria's vale the hymn rebounds, 
Floating down the sylvan Dee, 

O miserere, Doniine ! 

On the long procession goes, 
Glory round their crosses glows. 
And the Virgin-mother mild 
In their peaceful banner smiled ; 
Who could think such saintly band 
Doomed to feel unhallowed hand ? 
Such was the Divine decree, 

O miserere. Dominie .' 

Bands that masses only sung. 
Hands that censers only swung, 
Met the northern bow and bill. 
Heard the war-cry wild and shrill : 
Woe to Brockmael's feeble hand, 
Woe to Olfrid's bloody brand, 
Woe to Saxon cruelty, 

O miserere, Do7nine .' 

Weltering amid warriors slain, 
Spurned by steeds with bloody mane. 
Slaughtered down by heathen blade, 
Bangor's peaceful monks are laid : 
Word of parting rest unspoke, 
Mass unsung and bread unbroke ; 
For their souls for charity, 

Sing, O miserere, Domine ! 

Bangor ! o'er the murder wail ! 
Long thy ruins told the tale. 
Shattered towers and broken arch 
Long recalled the woful march : 
On thy shrine no tapers burn, 
Never shall thy priests return ; 
The pilgrim sighs and sings for thee, 
O jniserere, Domine .' 



Epilogue ia t!)£ Appeal. 

SPOKEN KY MRS. HENRY SIDUONS, FEB. 16, 1818. 

A CAT of yore - or else old /Esop lied — 
Was changed into a fair and blooming 

bride, 
But spied a mouse upon her marriage-day. 



Forgot her spouse and seized upon her 

prey ; 
Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you 

saw. 
Threw off poor me and pounced upon papa. 
His neck from Hymen's mystic knot made 

loose, 
He twisted round my sire's the literal 

noose. 
Such are the fruits of our dramatic labor 
Since the New Jail became our next-door 

neighbor. 

Yes, times are changed : for in your 

tather s age 
The lawyers were the patrons of the stage : 
However high advanced by future fate, 
There stands the bench [points to the Pit^ 

that first received their weight. 
The future legal sage 't was ours to see 
Doom though unwigged and plead without 

a fee. 

But now, astounding each poor mimic elf, 

Instead of lawyers comes the law herself; 

Tremendous neighbor, on our right she 
dwells. 

Builds high her towers and excavates her 
cells ; 

While on the left she agitates the town 

With the tempestuous question. Up or 
down .'' 

'Twixt Scyllaand Charybdis thus stand we. 

Law's final end and law's uncertainty. 

But, soft ! who lives at Rome the Pope 
must flatter, 

And jails and lawsuits are no jesting matter. 

Then — -just farewell ! We wait with seri- 
ous awe 

Till your applause or censure gives the law. 

Trusting our humble efforts may assure ye. 

We hold you Court and Counsel, Judge 
and Tnry. 



fRackri'mmon's 3Latnent. 

[1818.] 

Air — " Cha till 7ni tuille." 

Macleod's wizard flag from the gray castle 
sallies. 

The rowers are seated, unmoored are the 
galleys ; 

Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clang tar- 
get and quiver, 

As Mackrimmon sings, 'Farewell to Dun- 
vegan forever ! 

Farewell to each cliff on which breakers 
are foaming: 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



\2\ 



Farewell, each dark glen in which red-deer 

are roaming ; 
Farewell, lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, 

and river ; 
Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall 

never ! 

' Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan 

are sleeping; 
Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that 

are weeping; 
To each minstrel delusion, farewell ! — and 

forever — 
Mackrimmon departs, to return to you 

never ! 
The Banshee's wild voice sings the death- 
dirge before me. 
The pall of the dead for a mantle hangs 

o'er me ; 
But my heart shall not flag and my nerves 

shall not shiver. 
Though devoted I go — to return again 

never ! 

'Too oft shall the notes of Mackrimmon's 

bewailing 
Be heard when the (/ael on their exile are 

sailing; 
Dear land ! to the shores whence unwilling 

we sever 
Return — return — return shall we never ! 
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille ! 
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, 
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, 
Gea thillis Macleod, cha till Mackrim- 
mon ! ' 



©onalU Cairtii 's zQ\\\t again. 

[iSiS.] 

Air — " Malcolm Caird 's come again.'" 

CHORUS. 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 
Donald Caird 's come again ! 
Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Donald Caird can lilt and sing. 
Blithely dance the Hieland fling. 
Drink till the gudeman be blind, 
Fleech till the gudewife be kind; 
Hoop a leglin, clout a pan. 
Or crack a pow wi' ony man ; 
Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
Donald Caird 's come again. 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Tell the news in brugh and glen, 

Donald Caird 's come a^rain. 



Donald Caird can wire a maukin, 
Kens the wiles o' dun-deer staukin". 
Leisters kipper, makes a shift 
To shoot a muir-fowl in the drift; 
Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers. 
He can wauk when they are sleepers : 
Not for bountith or reward 
Dare ye mell wi' Donald Caird. 
Donald Caird 's come again I 
Donald Caird 's come again ! 
Gar the bagpipes hum amain, 
Donald Caird 's come again. 

Donald Caird can drink a gill 
Fast as hostler-wife can fill : 
Ilka ane that sells gude liquor 
Ken.s how Donald bends a bicker ; 
When he's fou he's stout and saucy, 
Keeps the cantle o' the cawsey; 
Hieland chief and Lawland laird 
Maun gie room to Donald Caird ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Tell the news in brugh and glen, 

Donald Caird 's come again. 

Steek the amrie, lock the kist. 
Else some gear may weel be mist ; 
Donald Caird finds orra things 
Where Allan Gregor fand the tings: 
Dunts of kebbuck, taits o' woo. 
Whiles a hen and whiles a sow. 
Webs or duds frae hedge or yard — 
'Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Dinna let the Shirra ken 

Donald Caird 's come again. 

On Donald Caird the doom was stern. 
Craig to tether, legs to airn ; 
But Donald Caird wi' mickle study 
Caught the gift to cheat the wuddie : 
Rings of airn, and bolts of steel, 
Fell like ice frae hand and heel ! 
Watch the sheep in fauld and glen, 
Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Dinna let the Justice ken 

Donald Caird "s come again. 



©pt'tap]^ on ilHrs. dBrskine. 

■[1S19.] 

Pl.-vin as her native dignity of mind. 
Arise the tomb of her we have resigned : 
Unflawed and stainless be the marble scroll. 
Emblem of lovely form and candid soul. — 



522 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



But, O, what symbol may avail to tell 
The kindness, wit, and sense we loved so 

well! 
What sculpture show the broken ties of life, 
Here buried with the parent, friend, and 

wife ! 
Or on the tablet stamp each title dear 
By which thine urn, EuPHEMiA, claims the 

tear ! 
Yet taught by thy meek sufferance to as- 
sume ^ 
Patience in anguish, hope beyond the tomb. 
Resigned, though sad, this votive verse 

shall flow, 
And brief, alas ! as thy brief span below. 



<©n lEttrt'cH Jonst's mountains ©un. 

[1822.] 

On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun 

'T is blithe to hear the sportsman's gun, 

And seek the heath-frequenting brood 

Far through the noonday solitude ; 

By many a cairn and trenched mound 

Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and sound, 

And springs where gray-haired shepherds 

tell 
That still the fairies love to dwell. 

Along the silver streams of Tweed 
'T is blithe the mimic fly to lead. 
When to the hook the salmon springs. 
And the line whistles through the rings : 
The boiling eddy see him try. 
Then dashing from the current high, 
Till watchful eye and cautious hand 
Have led his wasted strength to land. 

'T is blithe along the midnight tide 
With stalwart arm the boat to guide ; 
On high the dazzling blaze to rear. 
And heedful plunge the barbed spear: 
Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging bright, 
Fling on the stream their ruddy light, 
And from the bank our band appears 
Like Genii armed with fiery spears. 

'T is blithe at eve to tell the tale 
How we succeed and how we fail, 
Whether at Alwyn's lordly meal. 
Or lowlier board of Ashestiel ; 
While the gay tapers cheerly shine, 
Bickers the fire and flows the wine — 
Days free from thought and nights from 

care, 
My blessing on the Forest fair. 



CfjE Patli of Isla. 

WRITTEN FOR MR. GEORGE THOMSON'S SCOTTISH 
MELODIES. 

[1822.] 

Air — " T/te Maid of Isla." 

O Maid of Isla, from the cliff 

That looks on troubled wave and sky, 
Dost thou not see yon little skiff 

Contend with ocean gallantly ? 
Now beating 'gainst the breeze and surge. 

And steeped her leeward deck in foam. 
Why does she war unequal urge ? — 

O Isla's maid, she seeks her home. 



O Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark, 

Her white wing gleams through mist and 
spray 
Against the storm-cloud lowering dark. 

As to the rock she wheels away ; — 
Where clouds are dark and billows rave. 

Why to the shelter should she come 
Of cliff, exposed to wind and wave ? — 

O maid of Isla. 'tis her hqme ! 

As breeze and tide to yonder skiff. 

Thou 'rt adverse to the suit I bring, 
And cold as is yon wintry cliff 

Where sea-birds close their w^earied wing. 
Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave. 

Still, Isla's maid, to thee I come : 
For in thy love or in his grave 

Must Allan Vourich find his home. 



Jarei)j£ll to tfje JHuse. 

[1822.] 

En'CH An TRESS, farewell, who so oft has 
decoyed me 
At the close of the evening through 
woodlands to roam, 
Where the forester lated with wonder 
espied me 
Explore the wild scenes he was quitting 
for home. 
Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers 
wild speaking 
The language alternate of rapture and 
woe : 
O ! none but some lover whose heart-strings 
are breaking 
The pang that I feel at our parting can 
know ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



523 



Each joy thou couldst double, and when 
there came sorrow - 
Or pale disappointment to darken my 
way, 
What voice was like thine, that could sing 
of to-morrow 
Till forgot in the strain was the grief of 
to-day ! 
But when friends drop around us in life's 
weary waning, 
The grief. Queen of Numbers, thou canst 
not assuage ; 
Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet 
remaining. 
The languor of pain and the chillness of 
age. 

'T was thou that once taught me in accents 
bewailing 
To sing how a warrior lay stretched on 
the plain, 
And a maiden hung o'er him with aid un- 
availing, 
And held to his lips the cold goblet in 
vain ; 
As vain thy enchantments, O Queen of 
wild Numbers, 
To a bard when the reign of his fancy 
is o'er. 
And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy 
slumbers — 
Farewell, then, Enchantress ; — I meet 
thee no more. 



9Efje Bannatgne Club. 

[1823.] 

Assist me, ye friends of Old Books and 
Old Wine, 

To sing in the praises of sage Bannatyne, 

Who left such a treasure of old Scottish 
lore 

As enables each age to print one volume 
more. 
One volume more, my friends, one 

volume more, 
We '11 ransack old Banny for one vol- 
ume more. 

And first, Allan Ramsay, was eager to 
glean 

From Bannatyne's Hortiis his bright Ever- 
green ; 

Two light little volumes — intended for 
four — 

Still leave us the task to print one volume 
more. 

One volume more, etc. 



His ways were not ours, for he cared not 

a pin 
How much he left out or how much he put 

in ; 
The truth of the reading he thought was a 

bore. 
So this accurate age calls for one volume 

more. 

One volume more. etc. 

Correct and sagacious, then came my Lord 

Hailes, 
And weighed every letter in critical scales. 
But left out some brief words which the 

prudish abhor, 
And castrated Banny in one volume more. 
One volume more, my friends, one 

volume more ; 
We '11 restore Banny's manhood in one 

volume more. 

John Pinkerton next, and I 'm truly con- 
cerned 

i can't call that worthy so candid as learned : 

He railed at the plaid and blasphemed the 
claymore. 

And set Scots by the ears in his one vol- 
ume more, . 
One volume more, my friends, one 

volume more, 
Celt and Goth shall be pleased with one 
volume more. 

As bitter as gall and as sharp as a razor. 
And feeding on herbs as a Nebuchadnezzar : 
His diet too acid, his temper too sour. 
Little Ritson came out with his two volumes 
more. 
But one volume, my friends, one volume 

more, 
We '11 dine on roast-beef and print one 
volume more. 

The stout Gothic yeditur, next on the roll, 
With his beard like a brush and as black 

as a coal ; 
And honest Greysteel that was true to the 

core, 
Lent their hearts and their hands each to 

one volume more. 

One volume more, etc. 

Since by these single champions what 

wonders were done. 
What may not be achieved by our Thirty 

and One ? 
Law, Gospel, and Commerce, we count in 

our corps. 
And the Trade and the Press join for one 

volume more. 

One volume more, etc. 



524 



'SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ancient libels and contraband books, I 
assure ye, 

We '11 print as secure from Exchequer or 
Jury : 

Then hear your Committee and let them 
count o'er 

The Chiels they intend in their three vol- 
umes more. 

Three volumes more, etc. 

They '11 produce you King Jamie, the sa- 
pient and Sext, 

And the Rob of Dumblane and her Bishops 
come next ; 

One tome miscellaneous they '11 add to 
your store, 

Resolving next year to print four volumes 
more. 
Four volumes more, my friends, four 

volumes more ; 
Pay down your subscriptions for four 
volumes more. 



epilogue 

to the drama founded on " saint 
ronan's well." 

[1824.] 

{^Enter Meg Dodds, encircled by a crowd of unruly 
boys, whom a town' s-officer is driving off^ 

That 's right, friend — drive the gaitlings 

back. 
And lend yon muckle ane a whack ; 
Your Embro' bairns are grown a pack, 

Sae proud and saucy, 
They scarce will let an auld wife walk 
Upon your causey. 

I 've seen the day they would been scaured 
Wi' the Tolbootli or wi' the Guard, 
Or maybe wud hae some regard 

For Jamie Laing — 
The Water-hole was right weel wared 

On sic a gang. 

But whar 's the gude Tolbooth gane now ? 
Whar 's the auld Claught, wi' red and blue ? 
Whar 's Jamie Laing ? and whar 's JohnDoo ? 

And whar 's the Weigh-house ? 
Deil hae't I see but what is new. 

Except the Playhouse ! 

Yoursells are changed frae head to heel. 
There 's some that gar the causeway reel 
With clashing hufe and rattling wheel. 
And horses canterin'. 



Wha's fathers' daundered hame as weel 
Wi' lass and lantern. 

Mysell being in the public line, 

I look for howfs I kenned lang syne, 

Whar gentles used to drink gude wine 

And eat cheap dinners ; 
But deil a soul gangs there to dine 

Of saints or sinners ! 

Fortune's and Hunter's gane, alas ! 
And Bayle's is lost in empty space ; 
And now if folk would splice a brace 

Or crack a bottle. 
They gang to a new-fangled place 

They ca' a Hottle. 

The deevil hottle them for Meg ! 
They are sae greedy and sae gleg. 
That if ye 're served but wi' an egg — 

And that 's puir picking — 
In comes a chiel and makes a leg. 

And charges chicken ! 

' And wha may ye be,' gin ye speer, 

' That brings your auld-warld clavers here ? ' 

Troth, if there 's onybody near 

That kens the roads, 
I '11 baud ye Burgundy to beer 

He kens Meg Dodds. 

I came a piece frae west o' Currie ; 
And, since I see you 're in a hurry. 
Your patience I '11 nae langer worry. 

But be sae crouse 
As speak a word for ane Will Murray 

Tliat keeps this house. 

Plays are auld-fashioned things in truth, 
And ye 've seen wonders mair uncouth ; 
Yet actors shouldna suffer drouth 

Or want of dramock. 
Although they speak but wi' their mouth. 

Not with their stamock. 

But ye take care of a' folk's pantry ; 
And surely to hae stooden sentry 
Ower this big house — that's far frae rent- 
free — 

For a lone sister. 
Is claims as gude 's to be a ventri — 

How'st ca'd — loquister. 

Weel, sirs, gude'en, and have a care 
The bairns mak fun o' Meg nae mair ; 
For gin they do, she tells you fair 

And without failzie, 
As sure as ever ye sit there. 

She '11 tell the Bailie. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



525 



lEpilogue. 

[1824.] 

The sages — for authority, pray, look 
Seneca's morals or the copy-book — 
The sages to disparage woman's power, 
Say beauty is a fair but fading flower ; — 
I cannot tell — I 've small philosophy — 
Yet if it fades it does not surely die, 
But, like the violet, when decayed in bloom, 
Survives through many a year in rich per- 
fume. 
Witness our theme to-night ; two ages 

gone, 
A third wanes fast, since Mary filled the 

throne. 
Brief was her bloom with scarce one sunny 

day 
'Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal Fotheringay : 
But when, while Scottish hearts and blood 

you boast. 
Shall sympathy with Mary's woes be lost 1 
O'er Mary's memory the learned quarrel. 
By Mary's grave the poet plants his laurel, 
Time's echo, old tradition, makes her 

name 
The constant burden of his faltering 

theme ; 
In each old hall his gray-haired heralds 

tell 
Of Mary's picture and of Mary's cell. 
And show — my fingers tingle at the 

thought — 
The loads of tapestry which that poor 

queen wrought. 
In vain did fate bestow a double dower 
Of every ill that waits on rank and power. 
Of every ill on beauty that attends — 
False ministers, false lovers, and false 

friends. 
Spite of three wedlocks so completely 

curst, 
They rose in ill from bad to worse and 

worst, 
In spite of errors — I dare not say more. 
For Duncan Targe lays hand on his clay- 
more. 
In spite of all, however humors vary. 
There is a talisman in that word Mary, 
That unto Scottish bosoms all and some 
Is found the genuine open sesamuni ! 
In history, ballad, poetry, or novel, 
It charms alike the castle and the hovel. 
Even you — forgive me — who, demure 

and shy. 
Gorge not each bait nor stir at every fly, 
Must rise to this, else in her ancient 

reign 
The Rose of Scotland has survived in 

vain. 



Cfje Beat!) of IBteeltiar. 
[1828.] 

Up rose the sun o'er moor and mead; 
Up with the sun rose Percy Rede; 
Brave Keeldar, from his couples freed, 

Careered along the lea ; 
The Palfrey sprung with sprightly bound. 
As if to match the gamesome hound ; 
His horn the gallant huntsman wound : 

They were a jovial three ! 

Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame, 
To wake the wild deer never came 
Since Alnwick's Earl pursued the game 

On Cheviot's rueful day : 
Keeldar was matchless in his speed, 
Than Tarras ne'er was stancher steed, 
A peerless archer. Percy Rede ; 

And right dear friends were they. 

The chase engrossed their joys and woes. 
Together at the dawn they rose. 
Together shared the noon's repose 

By fountain or by stream ; 
And oft when evening skies were red 
The heather was their common bed, 
Where each, as wildering fancy led, 

Still hunted in his dream. 

Now is the thrilling moment near 
Of sylvan hope and sylvan fear ; 
Yon thicket holds the harbored deer, 

The signs the hunters know : 
With eyes of flame and quivering ears 
The brake sagacious Keeldar nears ; 
The restless palfrey paws and rears ; 

The archer strings his bow. 

The game 's afoot ! — Halloo ! Halloo ! 
Hunter and horse and hound pursue ; — 
But woe the shaft that erring flew — 

That e'er it left the string ! 
And ill betide the faithless yew ! 
The stag bounds scathless o'er the dew. 
And gallant Keeldar's life-blood true 

Has drenched the gray-goose wing. 

The noble hound — he dies, he dies ; 
Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes ; 
Stiff on the bloody heath he lies 

Without a groan or quiver. 
Now day may break and bugle sound, 
And whoop and hollow ring around, 
And o'er his couch the stag may bound, 

But Keeldar sleeps forever. 

Dilated nostrils, staring e3'es, 
Mark the poor palfrey's mute surprise; 
He knows not that his comrade dies, 
Nor what is death — but still 



526 



scorrs poetical works. 



His aspect hath expression drear 
Of grief and wonder mixed with fear, 
Like startled children when they hear 
Some mystic tale of ill. 

But he that bent the fatal bow 
Can well the sum of evil know, 
And o'er his favorite bending low 

In speechless grief recline ; 
Can think he hears the senseless clay 
In unreproachful accents say, • 

' The hand that took my life away, 

Dear master, was it thine ? 

' And if it be, the shaft be blessed 
Which sure_some erring aim addressed. 
Since in your service prized, caressed, 

1 in your service die ; 
And you may have a fleeter hound 
To match the dun-deer's merry bound, 
But by your couch will ne'er be found 

So true a guard as I.' 

And to his last stout Percy rued 
The fatal chance, for when he stood 
'Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud 

And fell amid the fray. 
E'en with his dying voice he cried, 
' Had Keeldar but been at my side, 
Your treacherous ambush had been spied — 

I had not died to-day ! ' 

Remembrance of the erring bow 

Long since had joined the tides which flow. 

Conveying human bliss and woe 

Down dark oblivion's river ; 
But Art can Time's stern doom arrest 
And snatch his spoil from Lethe's breast. 
And, in her Cooper's colors drest, 

The scene shall live forever. 



W^z jForag. 

SET TO MUSIC BY JOHN V^THITEFIELD, 
MUS. DOC. CAM. 

[1830.] 

The last of our steers on the board has 

been spread. 
And the last, flask of wine in our goblet is 

red ; 
Up ! up, my brave kinsmen ! belt swords 

and begone, 
There are dangers to dare and there 's 

spoil to be won. 



The eyes that so lately mixed glances with 

ours 
For a space must be dim, as they gaze 

from the towers, 
And strive to distinguish through tempest 

and gloom 
The prance of the steed and the toss of the 

plume. 

The rain is descending ; the wind rises 

loud ; 
And the moon her red beacon has veiled 

with a cloud ; 
'T is the better, my mates ! for the warder's 

dull eye 
Shall in confidence slumber nor dream we 

are nigh. 

Our steeds are impatient ! I hear my 

blithe Gray ! 
There is life in his hoof-clang and hope in 

his neigh ; 
Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of 

his mane 
Shall marshal your march through the 

darkness and rain. 

The drawbridge has dropped, the bugle 

has blown ; 
One pledge is to quaff yet — then mount 

and begone ! — 
To their honor and peace that shall rest 

with the slain ; 
To their health and their glee that see 

Teviot again ! 



Iniocriptfon 

FOR THE MONUMENT OF THE REV. GEORGE 
SCOTT. 

[1S30.] 

To youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale 
Tells the brief moral of its tragic tale. 
Art thou a parent ? Reverence this bier, 
The parents' fondest hopes lie buried here. 
Art thou a youth, prepared on life to start. 
With opening talents and a generous heart ; 
Fair hopes and flattering prospects all 

thine own ? 
Lo ! here their end — a monumental stone. 
But let submission tame each sorrowing 

thought, 
Heaven crowned its champion ere the fight 

was fought. 



APPENDIX. 



fubenile Lines;. 



jFrom Uirgil. 

[1782.] 

In awful ruins ^tna thunders nigh, 
And sends in pitchy whirlwinds to the sky 
Black clouds of smoke, which, still as they as- 
pire. 
From their dark sides there bursts the glowing 

fire ; 
At other times huge balls of fire are tossed, 
That lick the stars, and in the smoke are lost : 
'Sometimes the mount, with vast convulsions 

torn, 
Emits huge rocks, which instantly are borne 
With loud explosions to the starry skies. 
The stones made liquid as the huge mass flies, 
Then back again with greater weight recoils, 
While /Etna thundering from the bottom boils. 



©n a SCfjunUcr-Starm. 

[1783.] 

Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll, 
And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole, 



Yet 't is thy voice, my God, that bids them 

fly. 

Thy arm directs those lightnings through the 

sky. 
Then let the good thy mighty name revere. 
And hardened sinners thy just vengeance fear. 



©n tl)c Setting Sun. 

11783-] 

Those evening clouds, that setting ray. 
And beauteous tints, serve to display 

Their great Creator's praise ; 
Then let the short-lived thing called man, 
Whose life 's comprised within a span, 

To him his homage raise. 

We often praise the evening clouds, 

And tints so gay and bold. 
But seldom think upon our God, 

Who tinged these clouds with gold ! 



^ongs from t\)t jl5obels. 



From " Waver ley." 

[1814.] 

Saint Stoitijin's Cfjair. 

On Hallow-Mass Eve ere you boune ye to rest. 
Ever beware that your couch be blessed ; 
Sign it with cross and sain it with bead. 
Sing the Ave and say the Creed. 

For on Hallow-Mass Eve the Night-Hag will- 
ride, 
And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her side. 
Whether the wind sing lowly or loud, 
Sailing through moonshine or swathed in the 
cloud. 



34 



The Lady she sate in Saint Swithin's Chair, 
The dew of the night has damped her hair : 
Her cheek was pale, but resolved and high 
Was the word of her lip and the glance of her 
eye. 

She muttered the spell of Swithin bold. 
When his naked foot traced the midnight wold. 
When he stopped the Hag as she rode the night, 
And bade her descend and her promise plight. 

He that dare sit on Saint Swithin's Chair 
When the Night-Hag wings the troubled air, 
Questions three, when he speaks the spell, 
He may ask and she must tell. 



530 



APPENDIX. 



The Baron has been with King Robert his liege, 
These three long years in battle and siege ; 
News are there none of his weal or his woe, 
And fain the Lady his fate would know. 

She shudders and stops as the charm she 

speaks ; — 
Is it the moody owl that shrieks ? 
Or is that sound, betwixt laughter and scream, 
The voice of the Demon who haunts the stream ? 

The moan of the wind sunk silent and low, 
And the roaring torrent had ceased to flow ; 
The calm was more dreadful than raging storm. 
When the cold gray mist brought the ghastly 
form ! 



There is mist on the mountain and night on 

the vale, 
But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the 

Gael. 
A stranger commanded — it sunk on the land. 
It has frozen each heart and benumbed every 

hand ! 

The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust. 
The bloodless claymore is but reddened with 

rust ; 
On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear. 
It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. 

The deeds of our sires if our bards should re- 
hearse. 

Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse ! 

Be mute every string and be hushed every tone 

That shall bid us remember the fame that is 
flown. 

But the dark hours of night and of slumber are 

past, 
The morn on our mountains is dawning at last ; 
Glenaladale's peaks are illumed with the rays. 
And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in 

the blaze. 

O high-minded Moray !— the exiled — the dear! — 
In the blush of the dawning the ^/rt;/(/rtr(/uprear! 
Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly. 
Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is 
nigh ! 

Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall 

break 
Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake ? 
That dawn never beamed on your forefathers' 

eye 
But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or 

die. 

O sprung from the Kings who in Islay kept state, 
Proud chiefs of Clan-Ranald, Glengary, and 

Sleat ! 
Combine like three streams from one mountain 

of snow. 
And resistless in union rush down on the foe. 



True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel, 
Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish 

thy steel ! 
Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's 

bold swell, 
Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell ! 

Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail, 
Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the 

gale ! 
May the race of Clan-Gillian, the fearless and 

free, 
Remember Glenlivat, Harlaw, and Dundee ! 

Let the clan of gray Fingon, whose offspring 

has given 
Such heroes to earth and such martyrs to 

heaven, 
Unite with the race of renowned Rorri More, 
To launch the long galley and stretch to the oar ! 

How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief shall 

display 
The yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of gray ! 
How the race of wronged Alpine and murdered 

Glencoe 
Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the 

foe! 

Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild 

boar, 
Resume the pure faith of the great Callum- 

More ! 
Mac-Niel of the Islands, and Moy of the Lake, 
For honor, for freedom, for vengeance awake ! 

Awake on your hills, on your islands awake. 
Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the 

lake ! 
'T is the bugle — but not for the chase is the call ; 
'T is the pibroch's shrill summons — but not to 

the hall. 

'T is the summons of heroes for conquest or 

death. 
When the banners are blazing on mountain and 

heath ; 
They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe. 
To the march and the muster, the line and the 

charge. 

Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire ! 

May the blood through his veins flow like cur- 
rents of fire ! 

Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of 
yore ! 

Or die like your sires, and endure it no more ! 



Fro7n " Gjiy Maitnering." 
[1815I 

S:hjtst ge, ^TbJtw Ir. 

Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, 
Mingle shades of joy and woe, 
Hope and fear and peace and strife, 
In the thread of human life. 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



531 



"While the mystic twist is spinning, 
And the infant's life beginning, 
Dimly seen through twilight bending, 
Lo, what varied shapes attending ! 

Passions wild and follies vain, 
Pleasures soon exchanged for pain ; 
Doubt and jealousy and fear, 
In the magic dance appear. 

Now they wax and now they dwindle, 
Whirling with the whirling spindle. 
Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, 
Mingle human bliss and woe. 



From " The Heart of Midlothian^ 
[1S18.I 

PrauU IWlaistE. 

Proud Maisie is in the wood. 

Walking so early ; 
Sweet Robin sits on the bush. 

Singing so rarely. 

' Tell me, thou bonny bird. 
When shall I marry me ? ' 

' When six braw gentlemen 
Kirkward shall carry ye.' 

' Who makes the bridal bed. 

Birdie, say truly .'" 
' The gray-headed sexton 

That delves the grave duly. 

' The glow-worm o'er grave and stone 

Shall light thee steady. 
The owl from the steeple sing, 

" Welcome, proud lady." ' 



From " The Bride of Lammermoor.''' 
[1819.] 

ILucg Isfjton's Song. 

Look not thou on beauty's charming ; 
Sit thou still when kings are arming ; 
Taste not when the wine-cup glistens; 
Speak not when the people listens ; 
Stop thine ear against the singer ; 
From the red gold keep thy finger ; 
Vacant heart and hand and eye, 
P2asy live and quiet die. 



From " The Legend of Montrose." 

Ancient (Sadie Mclottg. 

Birds of omen dark and foul, 
Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl. 
Leave the sick man to his dream — 
All night long he heard you scream. 



Haste to cave and ruined tower. 
Ivy tod or dingled-bower, 
There to wink and mop, for, hark ! 
In the mid air sings the lark. 

Hie to moorish gills and rocks, 
Prowling wolf and wily fox, — 
Hie ye fast, nor turn your view. 
Though the lamb bleats to the ewe. 
Couch your trains and speed your flight, 
Safety parts with parting night ; 
And on distant echo borne. 
Comes the hunter's early horn. 

The moon's wan crescent scarcely gleams. 
Ghost-like she fades in morning beams ; 
Hie hence, each peevish imp and fay 
That scare the pilgrim on his way. — 
Quench, kelpy ! quench, in bog and fen. 
Thy torch that cheats benighted men ; 
Thy dance is o'er, thy reign is done, 
For Benyieglo hath seen the sun. 

Wild thoughts, that, sinful, dark, and deep, 
O'erpower the passive mind in sleep, 
Pass from the slumberer's soul away, 
Like night-mists from the brow of day : 
Foul hag, whose blasted visage grim 
Smothers the pulse, unnerves the limb. 
Spur thy dark palfrey and begone ! 
Thou darest not face the godlike sun. 



W(]t ©rpljan IHaiti. 

November's hail-cloud drifts away, 

November's sun-beam wan 
Looks coldly on the castle gray. 

When forth comes Lady Anne. 

The orphan by the oak was set. 
Her arms, her feet, were bare ; 

The hail-drops had not melted yet 
Amid her raven hair. 

' And, dame,' she said, ' by all the ties 

That child and mother know,_ 
Aid one who never knew these joys, — 

Relieve an orphan's woe.' 

The lady said, ' An orphan's state 

Is hard and sad to bear ; 
Yet worse the widowed mother's fate, 

Who mourns both lord and heir. 

' Twelve times the rolling year has sped 
Since, while from vengeance wild 

Of fierce Strathallan's chief I fled, 
Forth's eddies whelmed my child.' 

' Twelve times the year its course has borne. 

The wandering maid replied ; 
' Since fishers on Saint Bridget's morn 

Drew nets on Campsie side. 



532 



APPENDIX. 



' Saint Bridget sent no scaly spoil ; 

An infant, well-nigh dead, 
They saved and reared in want and toil, 

To beg from you her bread.' 

That orphan maid the lady kissed, 
' My husband's looks you bear ; 

Saint Bridget and her morn be blessed ! 
You are his widow's heir.' 

They 've robed that maid, so poor and pale, 

In silk and sandals rare ; 
And pearls, for drops of frozen hail, 

Are glistening in her hair. 



From " Ivaiihoe.''' 
2rf)c BarefootrtJ JFriar. 

I 'll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or 

twain 
To search Europe through from Byzantium to 

Spain ; 
But ne'er shall you find, should you search till 

you tire. 
So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar. 

Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career, 
And is brought home at even-song pricked 

through with a spear ; 
I confess him in haste — for his lady desires 
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar's. 

Your monarch ! — Pshaw ! many a prince has 

been known 
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown. 
But which of us e'er felt the idle desire 
To exchange for a crown the gray hood of a 

friar ? 

The Friar has walked out, and where'er he has 

gone 
The land and its fatness is marked for his own ; 
He can roam where he lists, he can stop where 

he tires. 
For every man's house is the Barefooted Friar's. 

He 's expected at noon, and no wight till he 

comes 
May profane the great chair or the porridge of 

plums ; 
For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the 

fire. 
Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar. 

He 's expected at night, and the pasty 's made 

hot. 
They broach the brown ale and they fill the 

black pot ; 
And the good-wife would wish the good-man in 

the mire. 
Ere he lacked a soft pillow, the Barefooted 

Friar. 



Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the 

cope. 
The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope ! 
For to gather life's roses, unscathed by the 

briar. 
Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. 



Eeberca's ?^gmn. 

When Israel of the Lord beloved 

Out from the land of bondage came. 
Her fathers' God before her moved. 

An awful guide in smoke and flame. 
By day, along the astonished lands 

The cloudy pillar glided slow; 
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands 

Returned the fiery column's glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise. 

And trump and timbrel answered keen, 
And Zion's daughters poured their lays. 

With priest's and warrior's voice between. 
No portents now our foes amaze. 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone : 
Our fathers would not know Thy ways. 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But present still, though now unseen, 

When brightly shines the prosperous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 

To temper the deceitful ray ! 
And O, when stoops on Judah's path 

In shade and storm the frequent night. 
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light ! 

Our harps we left by Babel's streams, 

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; 
No censer round our altar beams. 

And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn. 
But Thou hast said. The blood of goat, 

The flesh of rams I will not prize; 
A contrite heart, a humble thought, 

Are mine accepted sacrifice. 



JFuntral l&amn. 

Dust unto dust. 
To this all must ; 

The tenant hath resigned 
The faded form 
To waste and worm — 

Corruption claims her kind. 

Through paths unknown 
Thy soul hath flown 

To seek the realms of woe. 
Where fiery pain 
Shall purge the stain 

Of actions done below. 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



533 



In that sad place, 
By Mary's grace, 

Brief may thy dwelling be 
Till prayers and alms, 
And holy psalms, 

Shall set the captive free. 



Fro»i " The Monastery^ 

[1820.] 

©n Etofci) Ktber. 

Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright. 
Both current and ripple are dancing in light. 
We have roused the night raven, I heard him 

croak, 
As we plashed along beneath the oak 
That flings its broad branches so far and so 

wide, 
Their shadows are dancing in midst of the tide. 
' Who wakens my nestlings ? ' the raven he said, 
' My beak shall ere morn in his blood be red ! 
For a blue swollen corpse is a dainty meal. 
And I '11 have my share with the pike and the 

eel.' 

Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, 
There's a golden gleam on the distant height : 
There 's a silver shower on the alders dank. 
And the drooping willows that wave on the 

bank. 
I see the Abbey, both turret and tower. 
It is all astir for the vesper hour ; 
The monks for the chapel are leaving each cell. 
But where 's Father Philip should toll the bell ? 

Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, 
Downward we drift through shadow and light, 
Under yon rock the eddies sleep. 
Calm and silent, dark and deep. 
The Kelpy has risen from the fathomless pool. 
He has lighted his candle of death and of dool : 
Look, father, look, and you '11 laugh to see 
How he gapes and glares with his eyes on thee ! 

Good luck to your fishing, whom watch ye to- 
night ? 

A man of mean or a man of might .'' 

Is it layman or priest that must float in your 
cove. 

Or lover who crosses fo visit his love ? 

Hark ! heard ye the Kelpy reply as we passed, 

' God's blessing on the warder, he locked the 
bridge fast ! 

All that come to my cove are sunk, . 

Priest or lavman, lover or monk.' 



Landed — landed ! the black book hath won, 
Else had you seen Berwick with morning sun ! 
Sain ye, and save ye, and blithe mot ye be, 
For seldom they land that go swimming with 
me. 



Good evening. Sir Priest, and so late as you ride, 
With your mule so fair and your mantle so wide ; 
But ride you through valley or ride you o'er hill, 
There is one that has warrant to wait on you still. 

Back, back. 

The volume black ! 
I have a warrant to carry it back. 

What, ho ! Sub-Prior, and came you but here 
To conjure a book from a dead woman's bier .' 
Sain you and save you, be wary and wise, 
Ride back with the book, or you '11 pay for your 
prize. 

Back, back, 

There 's death in the track ! 
In the name of my master, I bid thee bear back. 

That which is neither ill nor well, 
That which belongs not to heaven nor to hell, 
A wreath of the mist, a bubble of the stream, 
'Twixt a waking thought and a sleeping dream ; 

A form that men spy 

With the half-shut eye 
In the beams of the setting sun, am I. 

Vainly, Sir Prior, wouldst thou bar me my right ! 
Like the star when it shoots, I can dart through 

the night ; 
I can dance on the torrent and ride on the air. 
And travel the world with the bonny night-mare. 

Again, again. 

At the crook of the glen. 
Where bickers the burnie, I '11 meet thee again. 

Men of good are bold as sackless. 
Men of rude are wild and reckless. 

Lie thou still 

In the nook of the hill, 
For those be before thee that wish thee ill. 



BortJcr Ballaft. 



March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, 

Why the deil dinna ye march forward in 
order ? 
March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, 

All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the 
Border. 
Many a banner spread 
Flutters above your head, 
Many a crest that is famous in story. 
Mount and make ready then, 
Sons of the mountain glen. 
Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish 
glory. 

Come from the hills where your hirsels are 
grazing. 
Come from the glen of the buck and the roe ; 
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, 
Come with thebuckler, the lance, and the bow. 
Trumpets are sounding, 
War-steeds are bounding, 



534 



APPENDIX. 



Stand to your arms and march in good 
order ; 
England shall many a day 
Tell of the bloody fray, 
When the Blue Bonnets came over the 
Border. 



From '■' The Pirate."" 

1821.] 

Clautie l^alcro's $ong. 

Farewell to Northmaven, 

Gray Hillswicke, farewell ! 
To the calms of thy haven, 

The storms on thy fell — 
To each breeze that can vary 

The mood of thy main, 
And to thee, bonny Mary ! 

We meet not again ! 

Farewell the wild ferry. 

Which Hacon coulcl brave 
When the peaks of the Skerry 

Were white in the wave. 
There 's a maid may look over 

These wild waves in vain 
For the skiff of her lover — 

He comes not again ! 

The vows thou hast broke, 

On the wild currents fling them : 
On the quicksand and rock 

Let the mermaidens sing them : 
New sweetness they '11 give her 

Bewildering strain ; 
But there 's one who will never 

Believe them again. 

O, were there an island, 

Though ever so wild. 
Where woman could smile, and 

No man be beguiled — 
Too tempting a snare 

To poor mortals were given ; 
And the hope would fix there 

That should anchor in heaven. 



$ong of liJavolti Sjarfagcr. 

The sun is rising dimly red, 
The wind is wailing low and dread ; 
From his cliff the eagle "feallies, 
Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys 
In the mist the ravens hover. 
Peep the wild dogs from the cover, 
Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling, 
Each in his wild accents telling, 
' Soon we feast on dead and dying. 
Fair-haired Harold's flag is flying.' 

Many a crest on air is streaming. 
Many a helmet darkly gleaming, 
Many an arm the axe uprears, 
Doomed to hew the wood of spears. 



All along the crowded ranks 
Horses neigh and armor clanks ; 
Chiefs are shouting, clarions ringing, 
Louder still the bard is singing, 
' Gather footmen, gather horsemen. 
To the field, ye valiant Norsemen ! 

' Halt ye not for food or slumber. 
View not vantage, count not number : 
Jolly reapers, forward still. 
Grow the crop on vale or hill, 
Thick or scattered, stiff or lithe, 
It shall down before the scythe. 
Forward with your sickles bright, 
Reap the harvest of the fight. 
Onward footmen, onward horsemen, 
To the charge, ye gallant Norsemen ! 

' Fatal Choosers of the Slaughter, 

O'er you hovers Odin's daughter ; 

Hear the choice she spreads before ye — 

Victory, and wealth, and glory ; 

Or old Valhalla's roaring hail. 

Her ever-circling mead and ale. 

Where for eternity unite 

The joys of wassail and of fight. 

Headlong forward, foot and horsemen. 

Charge and fight, and die like Norsemen ! 



$ang of Hk Srtlanti JFisljcnuan. 

Farewell, merry maidens, to song and to 

laugh. 
For the brave lads of Westra are bound to the 

Haaf ; 
And we must have labor and hunger and pain. 
Ere we dance with the maids of Dunrossness 

again. 

For now, in our trim boats of Noroway deal. 
We must dance on the waves with the porpoise 

and seal ; 
The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe not too high. 
And the gull be our songstress whene'er she 

flits by. 

Sing on, my brave bird, while we follow, like 

thee, 
By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the swarms of 

the sea ; 
And when twenty-score fishes are straining our 

line, 
Sing louder, brave bird, for their spoils shall 

be thine. 

We '11 sing while we bait and we '11 sing while 

we haul, 
For the deeps of the Haaf have enough for us 

all: 
There is torsk for the gentle and skate for the 

carle, 
And there 's wealth for bold Magnus, the son 

of the earl. 

Huzza ! my brave comrades, give way for the 

Haaf, 
We shall sooner come back to the dance and 

the laugh : 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



535 



For light without mirth is a lamp without oil ; 
Then, mirth and long life to the bold Magnus 
Troil ! 



(JLkticlanU's .Songs. 

Love wakes and weeps 

While Beauty sleeps ! 
O, for Music's softest numbers, 

To prompt a theme 

For Beauty's dream, 
Soft as the pillow of her slumbers ! 

Through groves of palm 

Sigh gales of balm, 
Fire-flies on the air are wheeling ; 

While through the gloom 

Comes soft perfume. 
The distant beds of flowers revealing. 

O wake and live ! 

No dream can give 
A shadowed bliss, the real excelling ; 

No longer sleep 

From lattice peep 
And list the tale that Love is telling. 



Farewell ! Farewell ! the voice you hear 
Has left its last soft tone with you, — 

Its next must join the seaward cheer. 
And shout among the shouting crew. 

The accents which I scarce could form 
Beneath your frown's controlling check 

Must give the word, above the storm, 
To cut the mast and clear the wreck. 

The timid eye I dared not raise, — 

The hand that shook when pressed to thine. 

Must point the guns upon the chase — 
Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. 

To all I love or hope or fear, 

Honor or own, a long adieu ! 
To all that life has soft and dear 

Farewell ! save memory of you ! 



FrofH " Quentin Durzvcird." 
[1823.] 

Countg (Sug. 

Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh. 

The sun has left the lea. 
The orange flower perfumes the bower, 

The breeze is on the sea. 
The lark his lay who thrilled all day 

Sits hushed his partner nigh ; 
Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour, 

But where is County Guy ? 



The village maid steals through the shade, 

Her shepherd's suit to hear; 
To beauty shy by lattice high 

Sings high-born Cavalier. 
The star of Love, all stars above, 

Now reigns o'er earth and sky ; 
And high and low the influence know — 

But where is County Guy ! 



From " T/te Betrothed." 
[1825.1 

SoUiur, amak! 

Soldier, wake — the day is peeping. 
Honor ne'er was won in sleeping. 
Never when the sunbeams still 
Lay unreflected on the hill : 
'T is when they are glinted back 
From axe and armor, spear and jack, 
That they promise future story 
Many a page of deathless glory. 
Shields that are the foeman's terror 
Ever are the morning's mirror. 

Arm and up — the morning beani 
Hath called the rustic to his team, 
Hath called the falconer to the lake. 
Hath called the huntsman to the brake ; 
The early student ponders o'er 
His dusty tomes of ancient lore. 
Soldier, wake — thy harvest, fame; 
Thy study, conquest; war, thy game. 
Shield that would be foeman's terror 
Still should gleam the morning's mirror. 

Poor hire repays the rustic's pain, 
More paltry still the sportsman's gain. 
Vainest of all, the student's theme 
Ends in some metaphysic dream : 
Yet each is up and each has toiled 
Since first the peep of dawn has smiled ; 
And each is eagerer in his aim 
Than he who barters life for fame. 
Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror ! 
Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror ! 



Cf)E SCrntl} of aSiomnn. 

Woman's faith and woman's trust — 
Write the characters in dust ; 
Stamp them on the running stream. 
Print them on the moon's pale beam. 
And each evanescent letter 
Shall be clearer, firmer, better. 
And more permanent, I ween, 
Than the thing those letters mean. 



536 



APPENDIX. 



I have strained the spider's thread 

'Gainst the promise of a maid ; 

I have weighed a grain of sand 

'Gainst her plight of heart and hand ; 

I told my true love of the token, 

How her faith proved light and her word was 

broken : 
Again her word and truth she plight, 
And I believed them again ere night. 



From " Woodstock.''' 

[1826.] 

Hn l^our toitjj V(stt. 

An hour with thee ! — When earliest day 
Dapples with gold the eastern gray, 
O, what can frame my mind to bear 
The toil and turmoil, cark and care, 
New griefs which coming hours unfold. 
And sad remembrance of the old? — 

One hour with thee. 

One hour with thee ! — When burning June 
Waves his red flag at pitch of noon, 
What shall repay the faithful swain 
His labor on the sultry plain. 
And more than cave or sheltering bough 
Cool feverish blood and throbbing brow ? — 
One hour with thee. 

One hour with thee! — When sun is set; 
O, what can teach me to forget 
The thankless labors of the day; 
The hopes, the wishes, flung away ; 
The increasing wants and lessening gains. 
The master's pride who scorns my pains ?- — 
One hour with thee. 



From " The Fair Maid of Perth." 

[1828.] 

grfje Hag of Poor ILautse. 

Ah, poor Louise ! the livelong day 
She roams from cot to castle gay ; 
And still her voice and viol say, 
Ah, maids, beware the woodland way, 
Think on Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! The sun was high, 

It smirched her cheek, it dimmed her eye. 



The woodland walk was cool and nigh. 
Where birds with chiming streamlets vie 
To cheer Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! The savage bear 
Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair ; 
The wolves molest not paths so fair — 
But better far had such been there 

For poor Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! In woody wold 
She met a huntsman fair and bold ; 
His baldric was of silk and gold. 
And many a witching tale he told 

To poor Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! Small cause to pine 
Hadst thou for treasures of the mine ; 
For peace of mind, that gift divine, 
And spotless innocence, were thine, 
Ah, poor Louise ! 

Ah, poor Louise ! Thy treasure 's reft ! 
I know not if by force or theft. 
Or part by violence, part by gift ; 
But misery is all that 's left 

To poor Louise. 

Let poor Louise some succor have ! 
She will not long your bounty crave, 
Or tire the gay with warning stave — 
For Heaven has grace and earth a grave 
For poor Louise. 



Song of tl)f ffiIcE=i!Hattirn. 

Yes, thou mayst sigh. 
And look once more at all around, 
At stream and bank, and sky and ground. 
Thy life its final course has found, 

And thou must die. 

Yes, lay thee down, 
And while thy struggling pulses flutter 
Bid the gray monk his soul-mass mutter. 
And the deep bell its death-tone utter — 

Thy life is gone. 

Be not afraid. 
'T is but a pang and then a thrill, 
A fever fit and then a chill ; 
And then an end of human ill. 

For thou art dead. 




SONGS FROM THE PLAYS. 



537 



^ongs from fte piaps. 



From " The Doovi of Devorgoil." 

STfje Sun upon tijc Hakr. 

The sun upon the lake is low. 

The wild birds hush their song, 
The hills have evening's deepest glow, 

Yet Leonard tarries long. 
Now all whom varied toil and care 

From home and love divide, 
In the calm sunset may repair 

Each to the loved one's side. 

The noble dame, on turret high 

Who waits her gallant knight. 
Looks to the western beam to spy 

The flash of armor bright. 
The village maid, with hand on brow 

The level ray to shade. 
Upon the footpath watches now 

For Colin's darkening plaid. 

Now to their mates the wild swans row, 

By day they swam apart ; 
And to the thicket wanders slow 

The hind beside the hart. 
The woodlark at his partner's side 

Twitters his closing song — 
All meet whom day and cire divide. 

But Leonard tarries long. 



'aumtrc not tfjat C (SatncD. 

Admire not that I gained the prize 

From all the village crew ; 
How could I fail with hand or eyes 

When heart and faith were true .' 

And when in floods of rosy wine 
My comrades drowned their cares, 

I thought but that thy heart was mine, 
My own leapt light as theirs. 

My brief delay then do not blame. 
Nor deem your swain untrue ; 

My form but lingered at the game. 
My soul was still with you. 



When the tempest 's at the loudest 

On its gale the eagle rides ; 
When the ocean rolls the proudest 

Through the foam the sea-bird glides- 
All the rage of wind and sea 
Is subdued by constancy. 

Gnawing want and sickness pining, 
All the ills that men endure. 



Each their various pangs combining, 

Constancy can find a cure — 
Pain and Fear and Poverty 
Are subdued by constancy. 

Bar me from each wonted pleasure. 
Make me abject, mean, and poor, 

Heap on insults without measure, 
Chain me to a dungeon floor — 

I '11 be happy, rich, and free, 

If endowed *vith constancy. 



Bonng ©unBte. 

Air — " The Bonnets of Bomiy Dundee." 

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se 

who spoke, 
' Ere the King's crown shall fall there are 

crowns to be broke ; 
So let each Cavalier who loves honor and 

me, 
Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, 
Come saddle your horses and call up 

your men ; 
Come open the West Port and let me 

gang free. 
And it 's room for the bonnets of Bonny 
Dundee ! ' 

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street. 
The bells are rung backward, the drums they 

are beat ; 
But the Provost, douce man, s«iid, ' Just e'en let 

him be, 
The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of 

Dundee.' 

Come fill up my cup, etc. 

As he rode down the sanctified bends of the 

Bow, 
Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow ; 
But the young plants of grace they looked 

couthie and slee, 
Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny 

Dundee ! 

Come fill up my cup, etc. 

With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was 

crammed 
As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged ; 
There was spite in each look, there was fear in 

each e'e. 
As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny 

Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, etc. 



538 



APPENDIX. 



These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had 
spears, 

And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers ; 

But they shrunk to close-heads and the cause- 
way was free, 

At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 

He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle 

rock. 
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke ; 
'Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa 

words or three, 
For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.' 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 

The Gordon demands of him which way he 
goes — 

' Where'er shall direct me the shade of Mon- 
trose ! 

Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of 
me, 

Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 

* There are hills beyond Pentland and lands be- 
yond Forth, 

If there 's lords in the Lowlands, there 's chiefs 
in the North ; 

There are wild Duniewassals three thousand 
times three, 

"Will cry hoigh ! for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 

' There 's brass on the target of barkened bull- 
hide ; 

There 's steeT in the scabbard that dangles be- 
side ; 

The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall 
flash free, 

At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 

* Away to the hilfs, to the caves, to the. rocks — 
Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with the fox ; 
And tremble false Whigs, in the midst of your 

glee, 
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and 

me ! ' 

Come fill up my cup, etc. 

He waved his proud hand and the trumpets 

were blown. 
The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen 

rode on, 



Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee 

Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, 

Come saddle the horses and call up the 

men, 
Come open your gates and let me gae free, 
For it 's up with the bonnets of Bonny 
Dundee ! 



SSftljcit JFrimtis avc Mti. 

When friends are met o'er merry cheer, 
And lovely eyes are laughing near. 
And in the goblet's bosom clear 

The cares of day are drowned ; 
When puns are made and bumpers quaffed. 
And wild Wit shoots his roving shaft, 
And Mirth his jovial laugh has laughed, 

Then is our banquet crowned, 
Ah ! gay, 

Then is our banquet crowned. 

When glees are sung and catches trolled, 
And bashfulness grows bright and bold, 
And beauty is no longer cold, 

And age no longer dull ; ' 
When chimes are brief and cocks do crow 
To tell us it is time to go, 
Yet how to part we do not know. 

Then is our feast at full, 
.A.h ! gay, 

Then is our feast at full. 



pjitljcr tof (Come. 

Hither we come. 

Once slaves to the drum. 
But no longer we list to its rattle ; 

Adieu to the wars, 

With their slashes and scars. 
The march, and the storm, and the battle. 

There are some of us maimed, 

And some that are lamed, 
And some of old aches are complaining ; 

But we '11 take up the tools 

Which we flung by like fools, 
'Gainst Don Spaniard 'to go a-campaigning. 

Dick Hathorn doth vow 

To return to the plough, 
Jack Steele to his anvil and hammer ; 

The weaver shall find room 

At the wight-wapping loom. 
And your clerk shall teach writing and grammar. 




FRAGMENTS. 



539 



JFragments. 



STi^e ffirag Brother. 

The Pope he was saying the high, high mass 

All on Saint Peter's day, 
With the power to him given by the saints in 
heaven 

To wash men's sins away. 

The Pope he was saying the blessed mass, 

And the people kneeled around. 
And from each man's soul his sins did pass, 

As he kissed the holy ground. 

And all among the crowded throng 

Was still, both limb and tongue, 
While through vaulted roof and aisles aloof 

The holy accents rung. 

At the holiest word he quivered for fear, 

And faltered in the sound — 
And when he would the chalice rear 

He dropped it to the ground. 

' The breath of one of evil deed 

Pollutes our sacred day ; 
He has no portion in our creed. 

No part in what I say. 

* A being whom no blessed word 

To ghostly peace can bring, 
A wretch at whose approach abhorred 

Recoils each holy thing. 

' Up, up, unhappy ! haste, arise ! 

My adjuration fear! 
I charge thee not to stop my voice, 

Nor longer tarry here ! ' 

Amid them all a pilgrim kneeled 

In gown of sackcloth gray ; 
Far jo;arneying from his native field. 

He first saw Rome that day. 

For forty days and nights so drear 

I ween he had not spoke. 
And, save with bread and water clear, 

His fast he ne'er had broke. 

Amid the penitential flock, 

Seemed none more bent to pray ; 
But when the Holy Father spoke 

He rose and went his way. 

Again unto his native land 

His weary course he drew. 
To Lothian's fair and fertile Strand, 

And Pentland's mountains blue. 

His unblest feet his native seat 

Mid Eske's fair woods regain ; 
Through woods more fair no stream more sweet 

Rolls to the eastern main. 



And lords to meet the pilgrim came, 

And vassals bent the knee ; 
For all mid Scotland's chiefs of fame 

Was none more famed than he. 

And boldly for his country still 

In battle he had stood. 
Ay, even when on the banks of Till 

Her noblest poured their blood. 

Sweet are the paths, O passing sweet ! 

By Eske's fair streams that run, 
O'er airy steep through copsewood deep, 

Impervious to the sun. 

There the rapt poet's step may rove, 

And yield the muse the day; 
There Beauty, led by timid Love, 

May shun the telltale ray ; 

From that fair dome where suit is paid 

By blast of bugle free. 
To Auchendinny's hazel glade 

And haunted Woodhouselee. 

Who knows not Melville's beechy grove 

And Roslin's rocky glen, 
Dalkeith, which all the virtues love. 

And classic Hawthornden .' 

Yet never a path from day to day 

The pilgrim's footsteps range. 
Save but the solitary way 

To Burndale's ruined grange. 

A woful place was that, I ween. 

As sorrow could desire ; 
For nodding to the fall was each crumblir 
wall. 

And the roof was scathed with fire. 

It fell upon a summer's eve, 

While on Carnethy's head 
The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams 

Had streaked the gray with red. 

And the convent bell did vespers tell 

Newbattle's oaks among. 
And mingled with the solemn knell 

Our Ladye's evening song; 

The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell. 

Came slowly down the wind, 
And on the pilgrim's ear they fell. 

As his wonted path he did find. 

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was, 

Nor ever raised his eye, 
Until he came to that dreary place 

Which did all in ruins lie. 



540 



APPENDIX. 



He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire, 

With many a bitter groan — 
And there was aware of a Gray Friar 

Resting him on a stone. 

' Now, Christ thee save ! ' said the Gray Brother ; 

' Some pilgrim thou seemest to be.' 
But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze, 

Nor answer again made he. 

'O, come ye from east or come ye from west, 
Or bring reliques from over the sea ; 

Or come ye from the shrine of Saint James the 
divine, 
Or Saint John of Beverley ? ' 

' I come not from the shrine of Saint James the 
divine, 

Nor bring reliques from over the sea ; 
I bring but a curse from our father, the Pope, 

Which forever will cling to me.' 

' Now, woful pilgrim, say not so ! 

But kneel thee down to me. 
And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin 

That absolved thou mayst be.' 

' And who art thou, thou Gray Brother, 

That I should shrive to thee. 
When He to whom are given the keys of earth 
and heaven 

Has no power to pardon me .'' ' 

' O, I am sent from a distant clime, 

Five thousand miles away, 
And all to absolve a foul, foul crime, 

Done here 'twixt night and day.' 

The pilgrim kneeled him on the sand, 

And thus began his saye — 
When on his neck an ice-cold hand 

Did that Gray Brother laye. 



Botljtocll (Castlf. 

[ 1 709-1 

When fruitful Clydesdale's apple-bowers 

Are mellowing in the noon ; 
When sighs round Pembroke's ruined towers 

The sultry breath of June ; 

• 
When Clyde, despite his sheltering wood, 

Must leave his channel dry, 
And vainly o'er the limpid flood 

The angler guides his fly ; 

If chance by Bothwell's lovely braes 

A wanderer thou hast been, 
Or hid thee from the summer's blaze 

Tn Blantvre's bowers of green, 



Full where the copsewood opens wild 

Thy pilgrim step hath staid, 
Where Bothwell's towers in ruin piled 

O'erlook the verdant glade ; 

And many a tale of love and fear 
Hath mingled with the scene — 

Of Bothwell's banks that bloomed so dear 
And Bothwell's bonny Jean. 

O, if with rugged minstrel lays 

Unsated be thy ear, 
And thou of deeds of other days 

Another tale wilt hear, — 

Then all beneath the spreading beech. 

Flung careless on the lea, 
The Gothic muse the tale shall teach 

Of Bothwell's sisters three. 

Wight Wallace stood on Deckmont head. 

He blew his bugle round, 
Till the wild bull in Cadyow wood 

Has started at the sound. 

Saint George's cross, o'er Bothwell hung. 

Was waving far and wide. 
And from the lofty turret flung 

Its crimson blaze on Clyde ; 

And rising at the bugle blast 
That marked the Scottish foe. 

Old England's yeomen mustered fast, 
And bent the Norman bow. 

Tall in the midst Sir Aylmer rose, 

Proud Pembroke's Earl was he — 
While— 



Ws]i S})epl)rrti's STalE. 

[1799] 



And ne'er but once, my son, he says, 

Was yon sad cavern trod. 
In persecution's iron days 

When the land was left by God. 

From Bevvlie bog with slaughter red 

A wanderer hither drew. 
And oft he stopt and turned his head, 

As by fits the night wind blew ; 

For trampling round by Cheviot edge 

Were heard the troopers keen, 
And frequent from the Whitelavv ridge 

The death-shot flashed between. 

The moonbeams through the misty shower 

On yon dark cavern fell ; 
Through the cloudy night the snow gleamed 
white. 

Which sunbeam ne'er could quell. 



FRAGMENTS. 



541 




' Yon cavern dark is rough and rude, 

And cold its jaws of snow ; 
But more rough and rude are the men of blood 

That hunt my life below ! 

' Yon spell-bound den, as the aged tell, 

Was hewn by demon's hands ; 
But I had lourd melle with the fiends of hell 

Than with Clavers and his band.' 

He heard the deep-mouthed bloodhound bark, 

He heard the horses neigh, 
He plunged him in the cavern dark, 

And downward sped his way. 

Now faintly down the winding path 
Came the cry of the faulting hound. 

And the muttered oath of balked wrath 
Was lost in hollow sound. 

He threw him on the flinted floor, 

And held his breath for fear ; 
He rose and bitter cursed his foes, 

As the sounds died on his ear. 

' O, bare thine arm, thou battling Lord, 

For Scotland's wandering band ; 
Dash from the oppressor's grasj) the sword. 

And sweep him from the land ! 

'Forget not thou thy people's groans 

From dark Dunnotter's tower, 
Mixed with the sea-fowl's shrilly moans 

And ocean's bursting roar ! 



' O, in fell Clavers' hour of pride, 

Even in his mightiest day. 
As bold he strides through conquest's tide, 

O, stretch him on the clay ! 

' His widow and his little ones, 

O, may their tower of trust 
Remove its strong foundation stones. 

And crush them in the dust ! ' 

' Sweet prayers to me,' a voice replied, 
' Thrice welcome, guest of mine ! ' 

And glimmering on the cavern side 
A light was seen to shine. 

An aged man in amice brown 

Stood by the wanderer's side. 
By powerful charm a dead man's arm 

The torch's light supplied. 

From each stiff finger stretched upright 

Arose a ghastly flame, 
That waved not in the blast of night 

Which through the cavern came. 

O, deadly blue was that taper's hue 

That flamed the cavern o'er, 
But more deadly blue was the ghastly hue 

Of his eyes who the taper bore. 

He laid on his head a hand like lead, 

As heavy, pale, and cold — 
' Vengeance be thine, thou guest of mine, 

If thy heart be firm and bold. 



542 



APPENDIX. 



* But if faint thy heart, and caitiff fear 

Thy recreant sinews know, 
The mountain erne thy heart shall tear. 
Thy nerves the hooded crow/ 

The wanderer raised him undismayed : 

' My soul, by dangers steeled, 
Is stubborn as my Border blade. 

Which never knew to yield. 

' And if thy power can speed the hour 

Of vengeance on my foes, 
Theirs be the fate from bridge and gate 

To feed the hooded crows.' 

The Brownie looked him in the face. 
And his color fled with speed — 

• I fear me,' quoth he, ' uneath it will be 

To match thy word and deed. 

' In ancient days when English ban(l> 

Sore ravaged Scotland fair, 
The sword and shield of Scottish land 

Was valiant Halbert Kerr 

' A warlock loved the warrior well. 

Sir Michael Scott by name. 
And he sought for his sake a spell to make. 

Should the Southern foemen tame. 

' " Look thou," he said, "from Cessford head 

As the July sun sinks low. 
And when glimmering white on Cheviot's 
height 
Thou shalt spy a wreath of snow, 
The spell is complete which shall bring to thy 
feet 
The haughty Saxon foe." 

' For many a year wrought the wizard here 

In Cheviot's bosom low. 
Till the spell was complete and in July's 
heat 

Appeared December's snow ; 
But Cessford's Halbert never came 

The wondrous cause to know. 

' For years before in Bowden aisle 

The warrior's bones had lain, 
And after short while by female guile 

Sir Michael Scott was slain. 

' But me and my brethren in this cell 

His mighty charms retain, — 
And he that can quell the powerful spell 

Shall o'er broad Scotland reign.' 



He led him through an iron door 

And up a winding stair. 
And in wild amaze did the wanderer gaze 

On the sight which opened there. 

Through the gloomy night flashed ruddy light, 
A thousand torches glow ; 



The cave rose high, like the vaulted sky. 
O'er stalls in double row. 

In every stall of that endless hall 

Stood a steed in barding bright ; 
At the foot of each steed, all armed save the 
head. 

Lay stretched a stalwart knight. 

In each mailed hand was a naked brand ; 

As they lay on the black bull's hide, 
Each visage stern did upwards turn 

With eyeballs fixed and wide. 

A launcegay strong, full twelve ells long. 

By every warrior hung ; 
At each pommel there for battle yare 

A Jedwood axe was slung. 

The casque hung near each cavalier ; 

The plumes waved mournfully 
At every tread which the wanderer made 

Through the hall of gramarye. 

The ruddy beam of the torches' gleam, 

That glared the warriors on. 
Reflected light from armor bright, 

In noontide splendor shone. 

And onward seen in lustre sheen. 

Still lengthening on the sight. 
Through the boundless hall stood steeds in 
stall. 

And by each lay a sable knight. 

Still as the dead lay each horseman dread, 
And moved nor limb nor tongue ; 

Each steed stood stiff as an earthfast cliff, s 
Nor hoof nor bridle rung. 

No sounds through all the spacious hall 

The deadly still divide. 
Save where echoes aloof from the vaulted roof 

To the wanderer's step replied. 

At length before his wondering eyes, 

On an iron column borne, 
Of antique shape and giant size 

Appeared a sword and horn. 

' Now choose thee here,' quoth his leader, 

' Thy venturous fortune try ; 
Thy woe and weal, thy boot and bale. 

In yon brand and bugle lie.' 

To the fatal brand he mounted his hand. 
But his soul did quiver and quail ; 

The life-blood did start to his shuddering heart. 
And left him wan and pale. 

The brand he forsook, and the horn he took 

To 'say a gentle sound ; 
But so wild a blast from the bugle brast 

That the Cheviot rocked around. 



FRAGMENTS. 



543 



From Forth to Tees, from seas to seas, 

The awful bugle rung ; 
On Carlisle wall and Berwick withal 
To arms the warders sprung. 

With clank and clang the cavern rang, 
The steeds did stamp and neigh ; 

And loud was the yell as each warrior fell 
Sterte up with hoop and cry. 



In many a sightless, soundless rill. 
Feed sparkling Bowmont's tide. 

Fair shines the stream by bank and lea, 
As wimpling to the eastern sea 

She seeks Till's sullen bed, 
Indenting deep the fatal plain 
Where Scotland's noblest, brave in vain, 

Around their monarch bled. 






' Woe, woe,' they cried, ' thou caitiff coward, 

That ever thou wert born ! 
Why drew ye not the knightly sword 

Before ye blew the horn ? ' 

The morning on the mountain shone 

And on the bloody ground, 
Hurled from the cave with shivered bone, 

The mangled wretch was found. 

And still beneath the cavern dread 

Among the glidders gray, 
A shapeless stone with lichens spread 

Marks where the wanderer lay. 



CJjeiJiot. 

['799-] 



Go sit old Cheviot's crest below. 
And pensive mark the lingering snow 

In all his scaurs abide, 
And slow dissolving from the hill 



And westward hills on hills you see, 
Even as old Ocean's mightiest sea 

Heaves high her waves of foam. 
Dark and snow-ridged from Cutsfeld's wold 
To the proud foot of Cheviot rolled. 

Earth's mountain billows come. 



Wc^t lacibcr's aSEttititng. 
[1802.] 

O, WILL ye hear a mirthful bourd ? 

Or will ye hear of courtesie ? 
Or will ye hear how a gallant lord 

Was wedded to a gay ladye "i 

' Ca' out the kye,' quo' the village herd. 

As he stood on the knowe, 
' Ca' this ane's nine and that ane's ten, 

And bauld Lord William's cow.' 

' Ah ! by my sooth,' quoth William then, 
' And stands it that way now, 



544 



APPENDIX. 




When knave and churl have nine and ten, 
That the lord has but his cow ? 

' I swear by the light of the Michaelmas moon, 

And the might of Mary high, 
And by the edge of my braidsword brown. 

They shall soon say Harden's kye.' 

He took a bugle frae his side. 
With names carved o'er and o'er — 

Full many a chief of meikle pride 
That Border bugle bore — 

He blew a note baith sharp and hie 
Till rock and water rang around — 

Threescore of moss-troopers and three 
Have mounted at that bugle sound. 

The Michaelmas moon had entered then, 

And ere she wan the full 
Ye might see by her light in Harden glen 

A bow o' kye and a bassened bull. 

And loud and loud in Harden tower 
The quaigh gaed round wi' meikle glee ; 

For the English beef was brought in bower 
And the English ale flowed rnerrilie. 

And mony a guest from Teviotside 
And Yarrow's Braes was there ; 



Was never a lord in Scotland wide 
That made more daintv fare. 

They ate, they laughed, they sang and quaffed. 

Till naught on board was seen, 
When knightt»and squire were boune to dine, 

But a spur of silver sheen. 



Lord William has ta'en his berry-brown steed — 

A sore shent man was he ; 
' Wait ye, my guests, a little speed — 

Weel feasted ve shall be.' 



He rode him down by Falsehope burn 

His cousin dear to see, 
W^ith him to take a riding turn — 

Wat-draw-the-Sword was he. 



And when he came to Falsehope glen. 

Beneath the trysting-tree. 
On the smooth green was carved plain, 

' To Lochwood bound are we.' 



' O, if they be gane to dark Lochwood 
To drive the Warden's gear. 

Betwixt our names, I ween, there 's feud : 
I '11 go and have my share : 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS. 



545 



' For little reck I for Johnstone's feud, 

The Warden though he be.' 
So Lord William is away to dark Lochwood 

With riders barely three. 

The Warden's daughters in Lochwood sate, 

Were all both fair and gay, 
All save the Lady Margaret, 

And she was wan and wae. 



The sister Jean had a full fair skin, 
And Grace was bauld and braw ; 

But the leal-fast heart her breast within 
It weel was worth them a'. 

Her father 's pranked her sisters twa 

With meikle joy and pride ; 
But Margaret maun seek Dundrennan's wa' 

She ne'er can be a bride. 

On spear and casque by gallants gent 

Her sisters' scarfs were borne, 
But never at tilt or tournament 

W^ere Margaret's colors worn. 



Her sisters rode to Thirlstane bower. 

But she was left at hame 
To wander round the gloomy tower. 

And sigh young Harden's name. 

' Of all the knights, the knight most fair 

From Yarrow to the Tyne,' 
Soft sighed the maid, ' is Harden's heir, 

But ne'er can he be mine ; 

' Of all the maids, the foulest maid 

From Teviot to the Dee, 
Ah ! ' sighing sad, that lady said, 

' Can ne'er young Harden's be.' 

She looked up the briery glen. 

And up the mossy brae. 
And she saw a score of her father's men 

Yclad in the Johnstone gray. 

O, fast and fast they downwards sped 
The moss and briers among, 

And in the midst the troopers led 
A shackled knight along. 



j^ottoes from ti)e Bobels* 



From " The Antiquary.'" 

I KNEW Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent. 
Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him ; 
But he was shrewish as a wayward child. 
And pleased again by toys whfch childhood 

please ; 
As book of fables graced with print of wood. 
Or else the jingling of a rusty medal, 
Or the rare melody of some old ditty 
That first was sung to please King Pepin's 

cradle. 

' Be brave,' she cried, ' you yet may be our guest. 
Our haunted room was ever held the best : 
If then your valor can the fight sustain 
Of rustling curtains and the clinking chain, 
If your courageous tongue have powers to talk 
When round your bed the horrid ghost shall 

walk. 
If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb, 
I '11 see your sheets well aired and show the 

room.' 

True Story. 

Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision 

sent. 
And ordered all the pageants as they went ; 
Sometimes that only 't was wild Fancy's 

play. 
The loose and scattered relics of the day. 



Beggar ! — the only freemen of your Common 

wealth, 
Free above Scot-free, that observe no laws, 
Obey no governor, use no religion 
But what they draw from their own ancient 

customs 
Or constitute themselves, yet they are no 

rebels. 

Brome. 

Here has been such a stormy encounter 
Betwixt my cousin Captain and this soldier. 
About I know not what ! — nothing, indeed ; 
Competitions, degrees, and comparatives 
Of soldiership ! — 

A Faire Quarrel. 

If you fail honor here. 
Never presume to serve her any more ; 
Bid farewell to the integrity of arms, 
And the honorable name of soldier 
Fall from you, like a shivered wreath of 

laurel 
By thunder struck from a desertlesse forehead. 
A Faire Quarrel. 

The Lord Abbot had a soul 
Subtile and quick, and searching as the fire ■• 
By magic stairs he went as deep as hell. 



35 



546 



APPENDIX. 



And if in devils' possession gold be kept, 

He brought some sure from thence — 'tis hid in 

caves, 
Known, save to me, to none — 

The Wonder of a Kingdome. 

Many great ones 
Would part with half their states, to have the 

plan 
And credit to beg in the first style. — 

Beggar'' s Bush. 

Who is he ? — One that for the lack of land 
Shall fight upon the water — he hath challenged 
Formerly the grand whale ; and by his titles 
Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth. 
He tilted with a sword-fish — Marry, sir, 
Th' aquatic had the best — the argument 
Still galls our champion's breech. 

Old Play. 

Tell me not of it, friend — when the young weep, 
Their tears are lukewarm brine; — from our 

old eyes 
Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of the North, 
Chilling the furrows of our withered cheeks, 
Cold as our hopes and hardened as our feel- 
ing— 
Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless — ours recoil, 
Heap the fair plain and bleaken all before us. 

Old Play. 

Remorse — she ne'er forsakes us ! — 
A bloodhound stanch — she tracks our rapid 

step 
Through the wild labyrinth of youthful frenzy. 
Unheard, perchance, until old age hath tamed 

us ; 
Then in our lair, when Time hath chilled our 

joints 
And maimed our hope of combat or of flight. 
We hear her deep-mouthed bay, announcing 

all 
Of wrath and woe and punishment that bides us. 

Old Play. 

Still in his dead hand clenched remain the 

strings 
That thrill his father's heart — e'en as the limb, 
Lopped off and laid in grave, retains, they tell 

us, 
Strange commerce with the mutilated stump, 
Whose nerves are twinging still in maimed ex- 
istence. 

Old Play. 

Life, with you, 
Glows in the brain and dances in the arteries ; 
'Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath 

quaffed. 
That glads the heart and elevates the fancy : — 
Mine is the poor residuum of the cup. 
Vapid and dull and tasteless, only soiling 
With its base dregs the vessel that contains it. 

Old Play. 



Yes ! I love Justice well — as well as you do — 
But, since the good dame 's blind, she shall ex- 
cuse me. 
If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb ; — 
The breath I utter now shall be no means 
To take away from me my breath in future. 

Old Play. 

Well, well, at worst, 'tis neither theft nor coin- 
age. 
Granting I knew all that you charge me with. 
What tho' the tomb hath born a second birth 
And given the wealth to one that knew not on't, 
Yet fair exchange was never robbery, 
Far less pure bounty — 

Old Play. 

Life ebbs from such old age, unmarked and 

silent. 
As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley. 
Late she rocked merrily at the least impulse 
That wind or wave could give ; but now her 

keel 
Is settling on the sand, her mast has ta'en 
An angle with the sky from which it shifts not. 
Each wave receding shakes her less and less. 
Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain 
Useless as motionless. 

Old Play. 

So, while the Goose, of whom the fable told, 
Incumbent brooded o'er her eggs of gold, 
With hand outstretched impatient to destroy, 
Stole on her secret nest the cruel Boy, 
Whose gripe rapacious changed her splendid 

dream 
For wings vain fluttering and for dying scream. 
The Loves of the Sea- Weeds. 

Let those go see who will — I like it not — 
For, say he w^s a slave to rank and pomp, 
And all the nothings he is now divorced from 
By the hard doom of stern necessity ; 
Yet is it sad to mark his altered brow. 
Where Vanity adjusts her flimsy veil 
O'er the deep wrinkles of repentant Anguish. 

Old Play. 

Fortune, you say, flies from us — She but 

circles. 
Like the fleet sea-bird round the fowler's skiff, — 
Lost in the mist one moment, and the next 
Brushing the white sail with her whiter wing. 
As if to court the aim. — Experience watches. 
And has her on the wheel. — 

Old Play. 



Frofn "The Black Dwarf." 

The bleakest rock upon the loneliest heath 
Feels in its barrenness some touch of spring ; 
And, in the April dew or beam of May, 
Its moss and lichen freshen and revive ; 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS. 



547 



And thus the heart, most seared to human 

pleasure, 
Melts at the tear, joys in the smile of woman. 

Beaumont. 

'T WAS time and griefs 
That framed him thus : Time, with his fairer 

hand. 
Offering the fortunes of his former days, 
The former- man may make him — Bring us to 

him, 
And chance it as it may. 

Old Play. 



From " Old Mortality.'^ 

Arouse thee, youth ! — it is no common call, — 
God's Church is leaguered — haste to man the 

wall ; 
Haste where the Red-cross banners wave on 

high, 
Signals of honored death or victory. 

James Duff. 

My hounds may a' rin masterless. 
My hawks may fly frae tree to tree, 

My lord may grip my vassal lands, 
For there again maun I never be ! 

Old Ballad. 

Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife ! 

To all the sensual world proclaim. 
One crowded hour of glorious life 

Is worth an age without a name. 

Anonymous. 



From " Rob Roy." 

In the wide pile, by others heeded not. 

Hers was one sacred solitary spot. 

Whose gloomy aisles and bending shelves con- 
tain 

For moral hunger food, and cures for moral 
pain. 

Anonymous. 

Dire was his thought who first in poison steeped 
The weapon formed for slaughter — direr his, 
And worthier of damnation, who instilled 
The mortal venom in the social cup. 
To fill the veins with death instead of life. 

Anonymous. 

Look round thee, young Astolpho : Here 's the 

place 
Which men — for being poor — are sent to 

starve in — 
Rude remedy, I trow, for sore disease. 
Within these walls, stifled by damp and stench. 
Doth Hope's fair torch expire ; and at the snuff, 
Ere yet 't is quite extinct, rude, wild, and way- 
ward. 



The desperate revelries of wild despair. 
Kindling their hell-born cressets, light to deeds 
That the poor captive would have died ere 

practised. 
Till bondage sunk his soul to his condition. 
77^1? Prison, Act i. Scene 3. 

Far as the eye could reach no tree was seen. 
Earth, clad in russet, scorned the lively green ; 
No birds, except as birds of passage, flew ; 
No bee was heard to hum, no dove to coo ; 
No streams, as amber smooth, as amber clear. 
Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here. 
Prophecy of F'amine. 

' Woe to the vanquished 1 ' was stern Brenno's 

word. 
When sunk proud Rome beneath the Gallic 

sword — 
' Woe to the vanquished ! ' when his massive 

blade 
Bore down the scale against her ransom weighed, 
And on the field of foughten battle still. 
Who knows no limit save the victor's will. 

77ie Gaulliad. 

And be he safe restored ere evening set. 
Or, if there 's vengeance in an injured heart 
And power to wreak it in an armed hand. 
Your land shall ache for 't. 

Old Play. 

Farewell to the land where the clouds love to 

rest, 
Like the shroud of the dead, on the mountain's 

cold breast ; 
To the cataract's roar where the eagles reply, 
And the lake her lone bosom expands to the 

sky. 



From " The Heart of Midlothian." 

To man, in this his trial state, 

The privilege is given. 
When lost by tides of human fate, 

To anchor fast in Heaven. 

Watts' Hymns. 

Law, take thy victim ! — May she find the mercy 
In yon mild heaven which this hard world de- 
nies her ! ) 

And Need and Misery, Vice and Danger, bind 
In sad alliance each degraded mind. 

I beseech you — 
These tears beseech you, and these chaste hands 

woo you. 
That never yet were heaved but to things holy — 
Things like yourself — You are a God above 

us; 
Be as a God then, full of saving mercy ! 

The Bloody Brother. 

Happy thou art ! then happy be. 

Nor envy me my lot ; 
Thy happy state I envy thee. 

And peaceful cot. 

Lady C C /. 



548 



APPENDIX. 



From " The Bride of Lammermoor." 

The hearth in hall was black and dead, 
No board was dight in bower within, 
Nor merry bowl nor welcome bed ; 

' Here 's sorry cheer,' quoth the Heir of Linne. 
Old Ballad 
(Altered fro7?i " T/w Heir of Linne "). 

As, to the Autumn breeze's bugle-sound. 
Various and vague the dry leaves dance their 

round ; 
Or from the garner-door, on aether borne, 
The chaff flies devious from the winnowed 

corn ; 
So vague, so devious, at the breath of heaven, 
From their fixed aim are mortal counsels driven. 

Anonymous. 

Here is a father now, 
Will truck his daughter for a foreign venture, 
Make her the stop-gap to some cankered feud. 
Or fling her o'er, like Jonah, to the fishes. 
To appease the sea at highest. 

Anonymous. 

Sir, stay at home and take an old man's counsel : 
Seek not to bask you by a stranger's hearth ; 
Our own blue smoke is warmer than their fire. 
Domestic food is wholesome, though 't is 

homely. 
And foreign dainties poisonous, though tasteful. 
The French Courtezan. 

True-love, an thou be true, 

Thou hast ane kittle part to play, 

For fortune, fashion, fancy, and thou 
Maun strive for many a day. 

I 've kend by mony a friend's tale, 
Far better by this heart of mine. 

What time and change of fancy avail, 
A true love-knot to untwine. 

Hendersoun. 

Why, now I have Dame Fortune by the fore- 
lock. 

And if she 'scapes my grasp the fault is mine ; 

He that hath buffeted with stern adversity, 

Best knows to shape his course to favoring 
breezes. 

Old Play. 



From " The Lege7td of Montrose." 

Dark on their journey loured the gloomy day. 
Wild were the hills and doubtful grew the way ; 
More dark, more gloomy, and more doubtful 

showed 
The mansion which received them from the road. 
The Travellers, a Romance. 

Is this thy castle, Baldwin? Melancholy 
Displays her sable banner from the donjon. 
Darkening the foam of the whole surge beneath. 
Were I a habitant, to see this gloom 
Pollute the face of nature, and to hear 



The ceaseless sound of wave and sea-bird's 

scream, 
I 'd wish me in the hut that poorest peasant 
Ere framed to give him temporary shelter. 

Browne. 

This was the entry, then, these stairs — but 

whither after ? 
Yet he that 's sure to perish on the land 
May quit the nicety of card and compass, 
And trust the open sea without a pilot. 

Tragedy of Brennovalt. 



From " Ivan hoe?'' 

Away ! our journey lies through dell and dingle, 
Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother. 
Where the broad oak with intercepting boughs 
Chequers the sun-beam in the greensward 

alley — 
Up and away ! — for lovely paths are these 
To tread, when the glad sun is on his throne; 
Less pleasant and less safe when Cynthia's 

lamp 
With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. 
Ettrick Forest. 

When autumn nights were long and drear, 
And forest walks were dark and dim. 

How sweetly on the pilgrim's ear 

Was wont to steal the hermit's hymn ! 

Devotion borrows Music's tone, 
And Music took Devotion's wing. 

And, like the bird that hails the sun, 
They soar to heaven, and soaring sing. 

Tlie Hermit of Saint dementis IVel/. 

The hottest horse will oft be cool, • 

The dullest will show fire; 
The friar will often play the fool. 

The fool will play the friar. 

Old Song. 

This wandering race, severed from other men. 
Boast yet their intercourse with human arts ; 
The seas, the woods, the deserts, which they 

haunt, 
Find them acquainted with their secret treasures; 
And unregarded herbs and flowers and blossoms 
Display undreamed-of powers when gathered 

by them. 

The/e7iJ. 

Approach the chamber, look upon his bed. 
His is the passing of no peaceful ghost. 
Which, as the lark arises to the sky. 
Mid morning's sweetest breeze and softest dew. 
Is winged to heaven by good men's sighs and 

tears ! 
Anselm parts otherwise. 

Old Play. 

Trust me, each state must have its policies : 
Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters ; 
Even the wild outlaw in his forest-walk 
Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS. 



549 



For not since Adam wore his verdant apron 
Hath man with man in social union dwelt, 
But laws were made to draw that union closer. 

Old Play. 

Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, 
Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey ; 
Lesser the risk than rouse the slumbering fire 
Of wild Fanaticism. 

Anofiymous. 

Say not my art is fraud — all live by seeming. 
The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier 
Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seeming : 
The clergy scorn it not, and the bold soldier 
Will eke with it his service. — All admit it, 
All practise it ; and he who is content 
With showing what he is shall have small credit 
In church or camp or state. — So wags the 
world. 

Old Play. 

Stern was the law which bade its votaries leave 
At human woes with human hearts to grieve ; 
Stern was the law which at the winning wile 
Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile ; 
But sterner still when high the iron-rod 
Of tyrant power she shook, and called that 
power of God. 

The Middle Ages. 



From " The Monastery.'''' 

ay! the Monks, the Monks, they did the 

mischief ! 
Theirs all the grossness, all the superstition 
Of a most gross and superstitious age. — 
May. He be praised that sent the healthful 

tempest. 
And scattered all these pestilential vapors ; 
But that we owed them all to yonder Harlot 
Throned on the seven hills with her cup of gold, 

1 will as soon believe, with kind Sir Roger, 
That old Moll White took , wing with cat and 

broomstick. 
And raised the last night's thunder. 

Old Play. 

In yon lone vale his early youth was bred. 
Not solitary then — the bugle-horn 
Of fell Alecto often waked its windings. 
From where the brook joins the majestic river, 
To the wild northern bog, the curlieu's haunt. 
Where oozes forth its first and feeble streamlet. 

Old Play. 

A PRIEST, ye cry, a priest ! — lame shepherds 

they. 
How shall they gather in the straggling flock .'' 
Dumb dogs which bark not — how shall they 

compel 
The loitering vagrants to the Master's fold ? 
Fitter to bask before the blazing fire, 
And snuff the mess neat-handed Phillis dresses, 
Than on the snow-wreath battle with the wolf. 
The Reformation. 



Now let us sit in conclave. That these weeds 
Be rooted from the vineyard of the Church, 
That these foul tares be severed from the wheat, 
We are, I trust, agreed. Yet how to do this. 
Nor hurt the wholesome crop and tender vine- 

])lants, 
Craves good advisement. 

The Reformation. 

Nay, dally not with time, the wise man's treasure, 
Though fools are lavish on 't — the fatal Fisher 
Hooks souls while we waste moments. 

Old Play. 

You call this education, do you not ? 
Why, 't is the forced march of a herd of bullocks 
Before a shouting drover. The glad van 
Move on at ease, and pause awhile to snatch 
A passing morsel from the dewy greensward. 
While all the blows, the oaths, the indignation, 
Fall on the croupe of the ill-fated laggard 
That cripples in the rear. 

Old Play. 

There 's something in that ancient superstition, 

Which, erring as it is, our fancy loves. 

The spring that, with its thousand crystal 

bubbles. 
Bursts from the bosom of some desert rock 
In secret solitude, may well be deemed 
The haunt of something purer, more refined. 
And mightier than ourselves. 

Old Play. 

Nay, let me have the friends who eat my victuals 
As various as my dishes. The feast's naught, 
Where one huge plate predominates. — John 

Plaintext, 
He shall be mighty beef, our English staple 5 
The worthy Alderman, a buttered dumpling ; 
Yon pair of whiskered Cornets, ruffs and rees ; 
Their friend the Dandy, a green goose in sippets. 
And so the board is spread at once and filled 
On the same principle — Variety. 

New Play. 

He strikes no coin, 't is true, but coins new 

phrases, 
And vends them forth as knaves vend gilded. 

counters. 
Which wise men scorn and fools accept in 

payment. 

Old Play. 

A courtier extraordinary, who by diet 
Of meats and drinks, his temperate exercise, 
Choice music, frequent bath, his horary shifts 
Of shirts and waistcoats, means to immortalize 
Mortality itself, and makes the essence 
Of his whole happiness the trim of court. 

Magnetic Lady. 

Now choose thee, gallant, betwixt wealth and 

honor ; 
There lies the pelf, in sum to bear thee through 
The dance of youth and the turmoil of manhood. 
Yet leave enough for age's chimney-corner ; 
But an thou grasp to it, farewell Ambition ! 



550 



APPENDIX. 



Farewell each hope of bettering thy condition, 
And raising thy low rank above the churls 
That till the earth for bread ! 

Old Play. 

Indifferent, but indifferent — pshaw ! he doth 

it not 
Like one who is his craft's master — ne'ertheless 
I have seen a clown confer a bloody coxcomb 
On one who was a master of defence. 

Old Play. 

Yes, life hath left him — every busy thought, 
Each fiery passion, every strong affection, 
The sense of outward ill and inward sorrow. 
Are fled at once from the pale trunk before me ; 
And I have given that which spoke and moved, 
Thought, acted, suffered, as a living man. 
To be a ghastly form of bloody clay, 
Soon the foul food for reptiles. 

Old Play. 

'T IS when the wound is stiffening with the cold, 
The warrior first feels pain — 't is when the heat 
And fiery fever of his soul is past, 
The sinner feels remorse. 

Old Play. 

I 'll walk on tiptoe ; arm my eye with caution, 
My heart with courage, and my hand with 

weapon, 
Like him who ventures on a lion's den. 

Old Play. 

Now, by Our Lady, Sheriff, 't is hard reckoning 
That I, with every odds of birth and barony. 
Should be detained here for the casual death 
Of a wild forester, whose utmost having 
Is but the brazen buckle of the belt 
In which he sticks his hedge-knife. 

Old Play. 
You call it an ill angel — it may be so ; 
But sure I am, among the ranks which fell, 
'Tis the first fiend e'er counselled man to rise, 
And win the bliss the sprite himself had forfeited. 

Old Play. 

At school I knew him — a sharp-witted youth. 
Grave, thoughtful, and reserved amongst his 

mates. 
Turning the hours of sport and food to labor, 
Starving his body to inform his mind. 

Old Play. 

Now on my faith this gear is all entangled, 
Like to the yarn clew of the drowsy knitter, 
Dragged by the frolic kitten through the cabin 
While the good dame sits nodding o'er the fire — 
Masters, attend; 'twill crave some skill to 
clear it. 

Old Play. 

It is not texts will do it — Church artillery 
Are silenced soon by real ordnance. 
And canons are but vain opposed to cannon. 
Go, coin your crosier, melt your church plate 

down. 
Bid the starved soldier banquet in your halls. 
And quaff your long-saved hogsheads. — Turn 

them out 



Thus primed with your good cheer, to guard 

your wall, 
And they will venture for 't. 

Old Play. 



From " 77/1? Abbot.'''' 

In the wild storm 
The seaman hews his mast down, and the mer- 
chant 
Heaves to the billows wares he once deemed 

precious : 
So prince and peer, mid popular contentions. 
Cast off their favorites. 

Old Play. 

Thou hast each secret of the household, Francis. 
I dare be sworn thou hast been in the buttery 
Steeping thy curious humor in fat ale. 
And in the butler's tattle — ay, or chatting 
With the glib waiting-woman o'er her comfits — 
These bear the key to each domestic mystery. 

Old Play. 

The sacred tapers' lights are gone. 
Gray moss has clad the altar stone, 
The holy image is o'erthrown. 

The bell has ceased to toll. 
The long ribbed aisles are burst and shrunk. 
The holy shrines to ruin sunk, 
Departed is the pious monk, 

God's blessing on his soul ! 

Rediviva. 

Life hath its May, and all is mirthful then : 
The woods are vocal and the flowers all odor; 
Its very blast has mirth in 't, and the maidens. 
The while they don their cloaks to skreen their 

kirtles. 
Laugh at the rain that wets them. 

Old Play. 

Nay, hear me, brother — I am elder, wiser. 
And holier than thou ; and age and wisdom 
And holiness have peremptory claims, 
And will be listened to. 

Old Play. 

Not the wild billow, when it breaks its barrier — 
Not the wild wind, escaping from its cavern — 
Not the wild fiend, that mingles both together 
And pours their rage upon the ripening harvest, 
Can match the wild freaks of this mirthful 

meeting — 
Comic, yet fearful — droll, and yet destructive. 
The Conspiracy. 

Youth ! thou wear'st to manhood now ; 

Darker lip and darker brow. 

Statelier step, more pensive mien. 

In thy face and gait are seen: 

Thou must now brook midnight watches. 

Take thy food and sport by snatches ! 

For the gambol and the jest 

Thou wert wont to love the best. 

Graver follies must thou follow. 

But as senseless, false, and hollow. 

Life, a Poem. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS. 



551 



It is and is not — 'tis the thing I sought for. 
Have kneeled for, prayed for, risked my fame 

and life for. 
And yet it is not — no more than the shadow 
Upon the hard, cold, flat, and polished mirror, 
Is the warm, graceful, rounded, living substance 
Which it presents in form and lineament. 

Old Play. 

Give me a morsel on the greensward rather, 
Coarse as you will the cooking — let the fresh 

spring 
Bubble beside my napkin — and the free birds, 
Twittering and chirping, hop from bough to 

bough. 
To claim the crumbs I leave for perquisites — 
Your prison-feasts I like not 

The Woodtnaji, a D)ama. 

'Tis a weary life this — 
Vaults overhead, and grates and bars around me. 
And my sad hours spent with as sad companions. 
Whose thoughts are brooding o'er their own 

mischances. 
Far, far too deeply to take part in mine. 

T/ie Woodman. 

And when Love's torch hath set the heart in 
flame. 

Comes Seignior Reason, with his saws and cau- 
tions, 

Giving such aid as the old gray-beard Sexton, 

Who from the church-vault drags his crazy 
engine, 

To ply its dribbling ineffectual streamlet 

Against a conflagration. 

Old Flay. 

Yes, it is she whose eyes looked on thy child 

hood, 
And watched with trembling hope thy dawn of 

youth. 
That now, with these same eyeballs, dimmed 

with age, 
And dimmer yet with tears, sees thy dishonor. 

Old Flay. 

In some breasts passion lies concealed and silent. 
Like war's swart powder in a castle vault. 
Until occasion, like the linstock, lights it; 
Then comes at once the lightning and the thun- 
der, 
And distant echoes tell that all is rent asunder. 

Old Flay. 

Death distant ? — No, alas ! he 's ever with us. 
And shakes the dart at us in all our actings : 
He lurks within our cup while we 're in health ; 
Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines ; 
We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel. 
But Death is by to seize us when he lists. 

The Spanish Father. 

Ay, Pedro, — come you here with mask and 

lantern. 
Ladder of ropes, and other moonshine tools — 
Why, youngster, thou mayst cheat the old 

Duenna, 
Flatter the waitmg-woman, bribe the valet ; 
But know, that I her father play the Gryphon, 



Tameless and sleepless, proof to fraud or bribe. 
And guard the hidden treasure of her beauty. 
The Spanish Father. 

It is a time of danger, not of revel. 
When churchmen turn to masquers. 

The Spanish Father. 

Ay, sir — our ancient crown, in these wild times. 
Oft stood upon a cast — the gamester's ducat. 
So often staked and lost and then regained. 
Scarce knew so many hazards. 

The Spanish Father. 



From " Kenilworth." 

Not serve two masters ? — Here 's a youth will 

try it — 
Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due ; 
Says grace before he doth a deed of villany, 
And returns his thanks devoutly when 't is acted. 

Old Flay. 

He was a man 
Versed in the world as pilot in his compass. 
The needle pointed ever to that interest 
Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails 
With vantage to the gale of others' passion. 
The Deceiver, a Tragedy. 

This is he 
Who rides on the court-gale ; controls its tides ; 
Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies ; 
Whose frown abases and whose smile exalts. 
He shines like any rainbow — and, perchance, 
His colors are as transient. 

Old Flay. 

This is rare news thou tell'st me, my good 

fellow ; 
There are two bulls fierce battling on the green 
For one fair heifer — if the one goes down, 
The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd, 
Which have small interest in their brulziement. 
May pasture there in peace. 

Old Flay. 

Well, then, our course is chosen ; spread the 

sail, — 
Heave oft the lead and mark the soundings well ; 
Look to the helm, good master ; many a shoal 
Marks this stern coast, and rocks where sits 

the siren 
Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin. 
The Shipwreck. 

Now God be good to me in this wild pilgrimage ! 
All hope in human aid I cast behind me. 
O, who would be a woman ? who that fool, 
A weeping, pining, faithful, loving woman ? 
She hath hard measure still where she hopes 

kindest. 
And all her bounties only make ingrates. 

Love's Filgritnage. 

Hark i the bells summon and the bugle calls. 
But she the fairest answers not ; the tide 
Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls, 
But she the loveliest must in secret hide. 



552 



APPENDIX. 



What eyes were thine, proud prince, which in 

the gleam 
Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense 
That o'er the glow-worm doth the star esteem, 
And merit's modest blush o'er courtly insolence ? 
The Glass Slipper. 

What, man, ne'er lack a draught when the full 

can 
Stands at thine elbow and craves emptying ! — 
Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight 
To watch men's vices, since I have myself 
Of virtue naught to boast of. — I 'm a striker. 
Would have the world strike with me, pell- 
mell, all. 

Pandceinonhmi . 

Now fare thee well, my master ! if true service 
Be guerdoned with hard looks, e'en cut the 

tow-line, 
And let our barks across the pathless flood 
Hold different courses. 

Shipzvreck. 

Now bid the steeple rock — she comes, she 

comes ! 
Speak for us, bells ! speak for us, shrill-tongued 

tuckets ! 
Stand to the linstock, gunner ; let thy cannon 
Play such a peal as if a Paynim foe 
Came stretched in turbaned ranks to storm the 

ramparts. 
We will have pageants too ; but that craves wit. 
And I 'm a rough-hewn soldier. 

The Vii-gm-Qiceen, a Tragi- Cotnedy. 

The wisest sovereigns err like private men, 
And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword 
Of chivalry upon a worthless shoulder. 
Which better had been branded by the hangman. 
What then .'' Kings do their best, — and they 

and we 
Must answer for the intent, and not the event. 

Old Play. 

Here stands the victim — there the proud be- 
trayer, 
E'en as the hind pulled down by strangling dogs 
Lies at the hunter's feet, who courteous proffers 
To some high dame, the Dian of the chase, 
To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade 
To gash the sobbing throat. 

The Woodman. 

High o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming, 
And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows ; 
So truth prevails o'er falsehood. 

Old Play. 



From " The Pirate.^' 

'T IS not alone the scene — the man, Anselmo. 
The man finds .sympathies in these wild wastes 
And roughly tumbling seas, which fairer views 
And smoother waves deny him. 

Ancient Drama. 



She does no work by halves, yon raving ocean ; 
Engulfing those she strangles, her wild womb 
Affords the mariners whom she hath dealt on 
Their death at once and sepulchre. 

Old Play. 

This is a gentle trader and a prudent — 
He 's no Autolycus, to blear your eye 
With quips of worldly gauds and gamesomeness. 
But seasons all his glittering merchandise 
With wholesome doctrine suited to the use, 
As men sauce goose with sage and rosemary. 

Old Play. 

All your ancient customs 
And long-descended usages I '11 change. 
Ye shall not eat, nor drink, nor speak, nor move, 
Think, look, or walk, as ye were wont to do ; 
Even your marriage-beds shall know mutation ; 
The bride shall have the stock, the groom the 

wall ; 
For all old practice will I turn and change. 
And call it reformation — marry, will I ! 

' Tis Even that we ^re at Odds. 

We '11 keep our customs — what is law itself 
But old established custom ? What religion — 
I mean, with one half of the men that use it — 
Save the good use and wont that carries them 
To worship how and where their fathers wor- 
shipped .'' 
All things resolve in custom — we '11 keep ours 

Old Play. 

I DO love these ancient ruins ! 
We never tread upon them but we set 
Our foot upon some reverend history. 
And questionless, here in this open court — 
Which now lies naked to the injuries 
Of stormy weather — some men lie interred. 
Loved the Church so well and gave so largely 

to it. 
They thought it should have canopied their 

bones 
Till doomsday; — but all things have their end — 
Churches and cities, which have diseases like 

to men. 
Must have like death which we have. 

Duchess of Malfy. 

See yonder woman, whom our swains revere 
And dread in secret, while they take her counsel 
When sweetheart shall be kind, or when cross 

dame shall die ; 
Where lurks the thief who stole the silver 

tankard, 
And how the pestilent murrain may be cured ; — 
This sage adviser 's mad, stark mad, my friend ; 
Yet in her madness hath the art and cunning 
To wring fools' secrets from their inmost bosoms, 
And pay inquirers with the coin they gave her. 

Old Play. 

What ho, my jovial mates! come on! we'll 
frolic it 

Like fairies frisking in the merry moonshine, 

Seen by the curtal friar, who, from some chris- 
tening 

Or some blithe bridal, hies belated cell-ward — 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS. 



553 



He starts, and changes his bold bottle swagger 
To churchman's pace professional, — and, ran- 
sacking 
His treacherous memory for some holy hymn, 
Finds but the roundel of the midnight catch. 

Old Play. 

I STRIVE like to the vessel in the tide-way, 
Which, lacking favoring breeze, hath not the 

power 
To stem the powerful current. — Even so, 
Resolving daily to forsake my vices, 
Habit, strong circumstance, renewed temptation, 
Sweep me to sea again. — O heavenly breath, 
Fill thou my sails, and aid the feeble vessel. 
Which ne'er can reach the blessed port without 

thee ! 

'Tis Odds when Evens meet. 

Parental love, my friend, has power o'er 

wisdom. 
And is the charm, which, like the falconer's lure, 
Can bring from heaven the highest soaring 

spirits. — 
So, when famed Prosper doffed his magic robe 
It was Miranda plucked it from his shoulders. 

Old Play. 

Hark to the insult loud, the bitter sneer. 
The fierce threat answering to the brutal jeer ; 
Oaths fly like pistol-shots, and vengeful words 
Clash with each other like conflicting swords. — 
The robber's quarrel by such sounds is shown. 
And true men have some chance to gain their 
own. , 

Captivity, a Poem. 

Over the mountains and under the waves. 
Over the fountains and under the graves. 
Over floods that are deepest, 

Wiiich Neptune obey, 
Over rocks that are steepest, 
Love will find out the way. 

Old Sons'. 



Fro7n " The Fortunes of Nigel." 

Now Scot and English are agreed, 

And Saunders hastes to cross the Tweed, 

Where, such the splendors that attend him, 

His very mother scarce had kenned him. 

His metamorphosis behold 

From Glasgow frieze to cloth of gold; 

His back-sword with the iron-hilt. 

To rapier fairly hatched and gilt ; 

Was ever seen a gallant braver ! 

His very bonnet 's grown a beaver. 

The Reformation. 

This, sir, is one among the Seigniory, 
Has wealth at will, and will to use his wealth, 
And wit to increase it. Marry, his worst folly 
Lies in a thriftless sort of charity. 
That goes a-gadding sometimes after objects 
Which wise men will not see when thrust upon 
them. 

The Old Couple. 



Ay, sir, the clouted shoe hath ofttimes craft in 't. 
As says the rustic proverb ; and your citizen. 
In 's grogram suit, gold chain, and well-blacked 

shoes. 
Bears under his flat cap ofttimes a brain 
Wiser than burns beneath the cap and feather. 
Or seethes within the statesman's velvet 

nightcap. 

Read me my Riddle. 

Wherefore come ye not to court ? 
Certain 't is the rarest sport ; 
There are silks and jewels glistening, 
Prattling fools and wise men listening, 
Bullies among brave men justling. 
Beggars amongst nobles bustling ; 
Low-breathed talkers, minion lispers, 
Cutting honest throats by whispers ; 
Wherefore come ye not to court .'' 
Skelton swears 't is glorious sport. 

Skelton Skeltonizeth. 

O, I DO know him — 't is the mouldy lemon 
Which our court wits will wet their lips withal. 
When they would sauce their honied conversa- 
tion 
With somewhat sharper flavor. — Marry, sir, 
That virtue 's wellnigh left him — all the juice 
That was so sharp and poignant is squeezed out ; 
While the poor rind, although as sour as ever. 
Must season soon the draff we give our grunters, 
For two-legged things are weary on 't. 

The Chamberlaiji, a Comedy. 

Things needful we have thought on ; but the 
thing 

Of all most needful — that which Scripture 
terms, 

As if alone it merited regard, 

The ONE thing needful — that 's yet unconsid- 
ered. 

The Chamberlain. 

Ah ! mark the matron well — and laugh not, 

Harry, 
At her old steeple-hat and velvet guard — • 
I 've called her like the ear of Dionysius ; 
I mean that ear-formed vault, built o'er the 

dungeon 
To catch the groans and discontented murmurs 
Of his poor bondsmen. — Even so doth Martha 
Drink up for her own purpose all that passes. 
Or is supposed to pass, in this wide city — 
She can retail it too, if that her profit 
Shall call on her to do so ; and retail it 
For your advantage, so that you can make 
Your profit jump with hers. 

The Conspiracy. 

Bid not thy fortune troll upon the wheels 
Of yonder dancing cups of mottled bone; 
And drown it not, like Egypt's royal harlot. 
Dissolving her rich pearl in the brimmed wine- 
cup. 
These are the arts, Lothario, which shrink acres 
Into brief yards — bring sterling pounds to 

farthings. 
Credit to infamy ; and the poor gull. 



554 



APPENDIX. 



Who might have lived an honored, easy life, 
To ruin and an unregarded grave. 

The Changes. 

This is the very barn-yard 
Where muster daily the prime cocks o' the game, 
Ruffle their pinions, crow till they are hoarse, 
And spar about a barleycorn. Here, too, 

chickens, 
The callow unfledged brood of forward folly, 
Learn first to rear the crest, and aim the spur, 
And tune their note like full-plumed Chanticleer. 
The Bear Garden. 

Let the proud salmon gorge the feathered hook, 
Then strike, and then you have him. — He will 

wince ; 
Spin out your line that it shall whistle from you 
Some twenty yards or so, yet you shall have 

him — 
Marry ! you must have patience — the stout rock 
Which is his trust hath edges something sharjb ; 
And the deep pool hath ooze and sludge enough 
To mar your fishing — 'less you are more careful. 
Albio7i, or the Double Kings. 

Give way — give way — I must and will have 

justice, 
And tell me not of privilege and place ; 
Where I am injured, there I'll sue redress. 
Look to it, every one who bars my access ; 
I have a heart to feel the injury, 
A hand to right myself, and, by my honor, 
That hand shall grasp what gray-beard Law 

denies me. 

The Chainberlaiti. 

Come hither, young one — Mark me ! Thou art 

now 
'Mongst men o' the sword, that live by reputation 
More than by constant income — Single-suited 
They are, I grant you ; yet each single suit 
Maintains, on the rough guess, a thousand 

followers — 
And they be men who, hazarding their all, 
Needful apparel, necessary income. 
And human body, and immortal soul, 
Do in the very deed but hazard nothing — 
So strictly is that all bound in reversion ; 
Clothes to the broker, income to the usurer, — 
And body to disease, and soul to the foul fiend ; 
Who laughs to see Soldadoes and fooladoes 
Play better than himself his game on earth. 

The Mohocks. 

Mother. What ! dazzled by a flash of Cupid's 
mirror. 
With which the boy, as mortal urchins wont. 
Flings back the sunbeam in the eye of passen- 
gers — 
Then laughs to see them stumble ! 

Daughter. Mother! no — 

It was a lightning-flash which dazzled me, 
And never shall these eyes see true again. 

Beef and Pudding, an Old English Comedy. 

By this good light, a wench of matchless mettle ! 
This were a leaguer-lass to love a soldier. 
To bind his wounds, and kiss his bloody brow, 



And sing a roundel as she helped to arm him. 
Though the rough foeman's drums were beat 
so nigh 
They seemed to bear the burden. 

Old Play. 

Credit me, friend, it hath been ever thus 

Since the ark rested on Mount Ararat. 

False man hath sworn, and woman hath be- 
lieved — 

Repented and reproached, and then believed 
once more. 

The New World. 

Rove not from pole to pole — the man lives 

here 
Whose razor 's only equalled by his beer; 
And where, in either sense, the cockney-put 
May, if he pleases, get confounded cut. 

On the Sign of an Alehouse kept by a Barber. 

Chance will not do the work — Chance sends 

the breeze ; 
But if the pilot slumber at the helm, 
The very wind that wafts us towards the port 
May dash us on the shelves. — The steersman's 

part is vigilance, 
Blow it or rough or smooth. 

Old Play. 

This is the time — Heaven's maiden-sentinel 
Hath quitted her high watch — the lesser 

spangles 
Are paling one by one ; give me the ladder 
And the short lever — bid Anthony 
Keep with his carabine the <wicket-gate ; 
And do thou bare thy knife and follow me. 
For we will in and do it — darkness like this 
Is dawning of our fortunes. 

Old Play. 

Death finds us mid our playthings — snatches 

us. 
As a cross nurse might do a wayward child. 
From all our toys and baubles. His rough call 
Unlooses all our favorite ties on earth ; 
And well if they are such as may be answered 
In yonder world, where all is judged of truly. 

Old Play. 

Give us good voyage, gentle stream — we stun 

not 
Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry. 
Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks 
With voice of flute and horn — we do but seek 
On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom 
To glide in silent safety. 

The Double Bridal. 

This way lie safety and a sure retreat ; 
Yonder lie danger, shame, and punishment. 
Most welcome danger then — nay, let me say. 
Though spoke with swelling heart — welcome 

e'en shame ; 
And welcome punishment — for, call me guilty, 
I do but pay the tax that 's due to justice; 
And call me guiltless, then that punishment 
Is shame to those alone who do inflict it. 

The Tribunal. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS. 



555 



How fares the man on whom good men would 

look 
With eyes where scorn and censure combated, 
But that kind Christian love hath taught the 

lesson — 
That they who merit most contempt and hate 
Do most deserve our pity — 

Old Play. 

Marry, come up, sir, with your gentle blood ! 
Here 's a red stream beneath this coarse blue 

doublet 
That warms the heart as kindly as if draw^n 
From the far source of old Assyrian kings. 
Who first made mankind subject to their sway. 

Old Play. 

We are not worse at once — the course of evil 
Begins so slowly and from such slight source, 
An infant's hand might stem its breach with 

clay; 
But let the stream get deeper, and philosophy — 
Ay, and religion too — shall strive in vain 
To turn the headlong torrent. 

Old Play. 



Froiti " Peveril of the Peak." 

Why then, we will have bellowing of beeves. 
Broaching of barrels, brandishing of spigots ; 
Blood shall flow freely, but it shall be gore 
Of herds and flocks and venison and poultry. 
Joined to the brave heart's-blood of John-a- 
Barleycorn ! 

Old Play. 

No, sir, I will not pledge — I 'm one of those 
Who think good wine needs neither bush nor 

preface 
To make it welcome. If you doubt my word, 
Fill the quart-cup, and see if I will choke on 't. 

Old Play. 

You shall have no worse prison than my 

chamber, 

Nor iailer than myself. t-., ^ , . • 

■' -' I he Captain. 

Ascasto. Can she not speak ? 

Os'wald. If speech be only in accented sounds. 
Framed by the tongue and lips, the maiden 's 

dumb ; 
But if by quick and apprehensive look. 
By motion, sign, and glance, to give each mean- 
ing. 
Express as clothed in language, be termed 

speech. 
She hath that wondrous faculty ; for her eyes, 
Like the bright stars of heaven, can hold dis- 
course, 
Though it be mute and soundless. 

Old Play. 

This is a love meeting ? See the maiden mourns, 
And the sad suitor bends his looks on earth. 
There 's more hath passed between them than 

belongs 
To Love's sweet sorrows. Old Play. 



Now, hoist the anchor, mates — and let the sails 
Give their broad bosom to the buxom wind. 
Like lass that woos a lover. 

Anonymous. 

He was a fellow in a peasant's garb ; 

Yet one could censure you a woodcock's carv- 

Like any courtier at the ordinary. 

The Ordinary. 

We meet, as men see phantoms in a dream, 
Which glide and sigh and sign and move their 

lips. 
But make no sound ; or, if they utter voice, 
'T is but a low and undistinguished moaning. 
Which has nor word nor sense of uttered sound. 
The Chieftain. 

The course of human life is changeful still L- 

As is the fickle wind and wandering rill ; 

Or, like the light dance which the wild-breeze 

weaves 
Amidst the faded race of fallen leaves ; 
Which now its breath bears down, now tosses 

high. 
Beats to the earth, or wafts to middle sky. 
Such, and so varied, the precarious play 
Of fate with man, frail tenant of a day ! 

Anonymotts. 

Necessity — thou best of peacemakers. 
As well as surest prompter of invention — 



Help us to composition ! 



Anonymous. 



This is some creature of the elements 

Most like your sea-gull. He can wheel and 

whistle 
His screaming song, e'en when the storm is 

loudest — 

Take for his sheeted couch the restless foam 

Of the wild wave-crest — slumber in the calm. 

And dally with the storm. Yet 'tis a gull. 

An arrant gull, with all this. ^, ^, ■ .-, ■ 
=> ' I he Chief tatn. 

I FEAR the devil worst when gown and cassock, 
Or in the lack of them, old Calvin's cloak. 
Conceals his cloven hoof. 

Anonymous. 

'T IS the black ban-dog of our jail — pray look 

on him. 
But at a wary distance — rouse him not — 
He bays not till he worries. 

The Black Dog of Ne^iVgate. 

' Speak not of niceness, when there 's chance of 

wreck,' 
The captain said, as ladies writhed their neck 
To see the dying dolphin flap the deck : 
' If we go down, on us these gentry sup ; 
We dine upon them, if we haul them up. 
Wise men applaud us when we eat the eaters. 
As the devil laughs when keen folks cheat the 

The Sea Voyage. 

Contentions fierce, 
Ardent, and dire, spring from no petty cause. 

Albion. 



556 



APPENDIX. 



He came amougst them like anew-raised spirit, 
To speal<: of dreadful judgments that impend, 
And of the wrath to come. 

The Reformer. 

And some for safety took the dreadful leap ; 
Some for the voice of Heaven seemed calling 

on them ; 
Some for advancement, or for lucre's sake — 
I leaped in frolic. 

The Dream. 

High feasting was there there — the gilded 

roofs 
Rung to the wassail-health — the dancer's step 
Sprung to the chord responsive — the gay 

gamester 
To fate's disposal flung his heap of gold. 
And laughed alike when it increased or lessened : 
Such virtue hath court-air to teach us patience 
Which schoolmen preach in vain. 

JVhy come ye not to Court ? 

Here stand I tight and trim, 
Quick of eye, though little of limb ; 
He who denieth the word I have spoken, 
Betwixt him and me shall lances be broken. 
Lay of the Little John de Saintre. 



From " Quentin Durzvard.'' 

Painters show Cupid blind — hath Hymen 

eyes ? 
Or is his sight warped by those spectacles 
Which parents, guardians, and advisers lend 

him 
That he may look through them on lands and 

mansions, 
On jewels, gold, and all such rich donations, 
And see their value ten times magnified .'' — 
Methinks 't will brook a question. 

The Miseries of Enforced Marriage. 

This is a lecturer so skilled in policy 
That — no disparagement to Satan's cunning — 
He well might read a lesson to the devil. 
And teach the old seducer new temptations. 

Old Play. 

I SEE thee yet, fair France — thou favored land 
Of art and nature — thou art still before me ; 
Thy sons, to whom their labor is a sport, 
So well thy grateful soil returns its tribute ; 
Thy sun-burnt daughters, with their laughing 

eyes 
And glossy raven-locks. But, favored France, 
Thou hast had many a tale of woe to tell. 
In ancient times as now. 

Anonymous. 

He was a son of Egypt, as he told me, 

And one descended from those dread magicians 

Who waged rash war, when Israel dwelt in 

Goshen, 
With Israel and her Prophet — matching rod 
With his the son of Levi's — and encountering 
Jehovah's miracles with incantations, 



Till upon Egypt came the avenging Angel, 
And those proud sages wept for their first-born, 
As wept the unlettered peasant. 

Anonymous. 

Rescue or none. Sir Knight, I am your captive ; 
Deal with me what your nobleness suggests — 
Thinking the chance of war may one day place 

you 
Where I must now be reckoned — i' the roll 
Of melancholy prisoners. 

Anonymous. 

No human quality is so well wove 
In warp and woof but there 's some flaw in it ; 
I 've known a brave man fly a shepherd's cur, 
A wise man so demean him drivelling idiocy 
Had wellnigh been ashamed on 't. For your 

crafty, 
Your worldly-wise man, he, above the rest, 
Weaves his own snares so fine he 's often caught 

in them. 

Old Play. 

When Princes meet, astrologers may mark it 
An ominous conjunction, full of boding. 
Like that of Mars with Saturn. 

Old Play. 

Thy time is not yet out — the devil thou servest 

Has not as yet deserted thee. He aids 

The friends who drudge for him, as the blind 

man 
Was aided by the guide, who lent his shoulder 
O'er rough and smooth, until he reached the 

brink 
Of the fell precipice — then hurled him down- 
ward. rM J m 

Old Play. 

Our counsels waver like the unsteady bark. 
That reels amid the strife of meeting currents. 

Old Play. 

Hold fast thy truth, young soldier. — Gentle 

maiden, 
Keep you your promise plight — leave age its 

subtleties. 
And gray-haired policy its maze of falsehood ; 
But be you candid as the morning sky. 
Ere the high sun sucks vapors up to stain it. 

The Trial. 



From " Saint Ponan's Well." 

Quis novus hie hospes ? 

Dido apiid Virgilium. 

Ch'm-maid ! — The Genman in the front parlor ! 
Boots's free Translation of the ALneid. 

There must be government in all society — 
Bees have their Queen, and stag herds have 

their leader; 
Rome had her Consuls, Athens had her Ar- 

chons. 
And we, sir, have our Managing Committee. 
The Album of Saint Ponans. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS. 



557 



Come, let me have thy counsel, for I need it ; 
Thou art of those, who better help their friends 
With sage advice, than usurers with gold. 
Or brawlers with their swords — I '11 trust to 

thee. 
For I ask only from thee words, not deeds. 
The Devil hath met his Alatch. 

Nearest of blood should still be next in love ; 
And when I see these happy children playing, 
While William gathers flowers for Ellen's 

ringlets 
And Ellen dresses flies for William's angle, 
I scarce can think that in advancing life 
Coldness, unkindness, interest, or suspicion 
Will e'er divide that unity so sacred. 
Which Nature bound at birth. 

Anonymous. 

Oh ! you would be a vestal maid, I warrant. 
The bride of Heaven — Come — we may shake 

your purpose : 
For here I bring in hand a jolly suitor 
Hath ta'en degrees in the seven sciences 
That ladies love best — He is young and noble. 
Handsome and valiant, gay and rich, and liberal. 

The Nun. 

It comes — it wrings me in my parting hour. 
The long-hid crime — the well-disguised guilt. 
Bring me some holy priest to Isfy the spectre ! 

Old Play. 

Sedet post eqtiitejn atra cur a — 
Still though the headlong cavalier. 
O'er rough and smooth, in wild career, 

Seems racing with the wind ; 
His sad companion — ghastly pale, 
And darksome as a widow's veil, 
Care — keeps her seat behind. 

Horace. 

What sheeted ghost is wandering through the 

storm .'' 
For never did a maid of middle earth 
Choose such a time or spot to vent her sorrows. 

Old Play. 

Here come we to our close — for that which 
follows 

Is but the tale of dull, unvaried misery. 

Steep crags and headlong lins may court the 
pencil 

Like sudden haps, dark plots, and strange ad- 
ventures; 

But who would paint the dull and fog-wrapt 
moor 

In its long tract of sterile desolation ? 

Old Play. 



From " The Betrothed." 

In Madoc's tent the clarion sounds, 
With rapid clangor hurried far ; 

Each hill and dale the note rebounds, 
But when return the sons of war .■' 



Thou, born of stern Necessity, 
Dull Peace ! the valley yields to thee, 
And owns thy melancholy sway. 

Welsh Poem- 

O, SADLY shines the morning sun 

On leaguered castle wall, 
When bastion, tower, and battlement 

Seem nodding to their fall. 

Old Ballad. 

Now, all ye ladies of fair Scotland, 

And ladies of England that happy would 
prove, 
Marry never for houses, nor marry for land, 
Nor marry for nothing but only love. 

Family Qua}-rels. 

Too much rest is rust. 

There 's ever cheer in changing ; 
We tyne by too much trust. 

So we '11 be up and ranging. 

Old Sottg. 

Ring out the merry bells, the bride approaches. 
The blush upon her cheek has shamed the 

morning, 
For that is dawning palely. Grant, good saints, 
These clouds betoken naught of evil omen ! 

Old Play. 

Julia. Gentle sir. 

You are our captive — but we '11 use you so, 
That you shall think your prison joys may match 
Whate'er your liberty hath known of pleasure. 
Roderick. No, fairest, we have trifled here 
too long : 
And, lingering to see your roses blossom, 
I 've let my laurels wither. 

Old Play. 



From " The Talisman." 

This is the Prince of Leeches ; fever, plague. 
Cold rheum, and hot podagra, do but look on 

him. 
And quit their grasp upon the tortured sinews. 

Anonymous. 

One thing is certain in our Northern land. 
Allow that birth or valor, wealth or wit. 
Give each precedence to their possessor, 
Envy, that follows on such eminence 
As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck's trace. 
Shall pull them down each one. 

Sir David Lindsay. 

You talk of Gayety and Innocence ! 
The moment when the fatal fruit was eaten, 
They parted ne'er to meet again ; and Malice 
Has ever since been playmate to light Gayety, 
From the first moment when the smiling infant 
Destroys the flower or butterfly he toys with. 
To the last chuckle of the dying miser. 
Who on his death-bed laughs his last to hear 
His wealthy neighbor has become a bankrupt. 

Old Play. 



558 



APPENDIX. 



'T IS not her sense — for sure, in that 
There ■'s nothing more than common ; 

And all her wit is only chat, 
Like any other woman. 

So)i\^. 

Were every hair upon his head a life, 
And every life were to be supplicated 
By numbers equal to those hairs quadrupled, 
Life after life should out like waning stars 
Before the daybreak — or as festive lamps. 
Which have lent lustre to the midnight revel, 
Each after each are quenched when guests de- 
part. 

Old Play. 

Must we then sheath our still victorious sword ; 
Turn back our forward step, which ever trode 
O'er foemen's necks the onward path of glory ; 
Unclasp the mail, which with a solemn vow 
In God's own house we hung upon our shoul- 
ders ; 
That vow, as unaccomplished as the promise 
Which village nurses make to still their children, 
And after think no more of? 

The Crusade, a Tragedy. 

When beautv leads the lion in her toils. 
Such are her charms he dare not raise his mane. 
Far less expand the terror of his fangs ; 
So great Alcides made his club a distaff, 
And spun to please fair Omphale. 

Anoiiymotis. 

Mid these wild scenes Enchantment waves her 

hand. 
To change the face of the mysterious land ; 
Till the bewildering scenes around us seem 
The vain productions of a feverish dream. 

Astolpho, a Romance. 

A GRAIN of dust 

Soiling our cup, will make our sense reject 
Fastidiously the draught which we did thirst for ; 
A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass. 
Will sway it from the truth and wreck the argosy. 
Even this small cause of anger and disgust 
Will break the bonds of amity 'mongst princes 
And wreck their noblest purposes. 

The Crusade. 

The tears I shed must ever fall ! 

I weep not for an absent swain. 
For time may happier hours recall. 

And parted lovers meet again. 

I weep not for the silent dead. 

Their pains are past, their sorrows o'er, 

And those that loved their steps must tread, 
When death shall join to part no more. 

But worse than absence, worse than death. 
She wept her lover's sullied fame, 

And, fired with all the pride of birth. 
She wept a soldier's injured name. 

Ballad. 



From " Woodstock."" 

Come forth, old man — thy daughter's side 

Is now the fitting place for thee : 
When Time hath quelled the oak's bold pride. 
The youthful tendril yet may hide 

The ruins of the parent tree. 

Now, ye wild blades, that make loose inns your 

stage. 
To vapor forth the acts of this sad age. 
Stout Edgehill fight, the Newberries and the 

West, 
And northern clashes, where you still fought 

best ; 
Your strange escapes, your dangers void of fear, 
When bullets flew between the head and ear, 
Whether you fought by Damme or the Spirit, 
Of you I speak. 

Legend of Captain Jones. 

Yon path of greensward 
Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion ; 
There is no flint to gall thy tender foot. 
There 's ready shelter from each breeze or 

shower. — 
But Duty guides not that way — see her stand. 
With wand entwined with amaranth, near yon 

cliffs. 
Oft where she leads thy blood must mark thy 

footsteps, 
Oft where she leads thy head must bear the 

storm. 
And thy shrunk form endure heat, cold, and 

hunger ; 
But she will guide thee up to noble heights, 
Which he who gains seems native of the sky. 
While earthlv things lie stretched beneath his 

feet. 
Diminished, shrunk, and valueless — 

A^tonymotis. 

My tongue pads slowly under this new language. 
And starts and stumbles at these uncouth 

phrases. 
They may be great in worth and weight, but 

hang 
Upon the native glibness of my language 
Like Saul's plate-armor on the shepherd boy. 
Encumbering and not arming him. 

J.B. 

Here we have one head 
Upon two bodies — your two-headed bullock 
Is but an ass to such a prodigy. 
These two have but one meaning, thought, and 

counsel ; 
And when the single noddle has spoke out. 
The four legs scrape assent to it. 

Old Play. 

Deeds are done on earth 
Which have their punishment ere the earth 

closes 
Upon the perpetrators. Be it the working 
Of the remorse-stirred fancy, or the vision, 
Distinct and real, of unearthly being. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS. 



559 



All ages witness that beside the couch 
Of the fell homicide oft stalks the ghost 
Of him he slew, and shows the shadowy wound. 

Old Play. 
We do that in our zeal 
Our calmer moments are afraid to answer. 
Anonymous. 

The deadliest snakes are those which, twined 
'mongst flowers, 

Blend their bright coloring with the varied 
blossoms, 

Their fierce eyes glittering like the spangled 
dew-drop ; 

In all so like what nature has most harmless, 

That sportive innocence, which dreads no dan- 
ger. 

Is poisoned unawares. 

Old Play. 



From " Chronicles of the Canongate.^' 

Were ever such two loving friends ! — 
How could they disagree .-' 

O, THUS it was : he loved him dear. 
And thought but to requite him ; 

And, having no friend left but he. 
He did resolve to fight him. 

Duke upon Duke. 

There are times 
When Fancy plays her gambols, in despite 
Even of our watchful senses, when in sooth 
Substance seems shadow, shadow substance 

seems. 
When the broad, palpable, and marked partition 
'Twixt that which is and is not, seems dissolved, 
As if the mental eye gained power to gaze 
Beyond the limits of the existing world. 
Such hours of shadowy dreams I better love 
Than all the gross realities of life. 

Anonymous. 



From " The Fair Maid of Perth.^' 

The ashes here of murdered kings 
Beneath my footsteps sleep ; 

And yonder lies the scene of death 
Where Mary learned to weep. 

Captain Marjoribanks. 

' Behold the Tiber !' the vain Roman cried. 
Viewing the ample Tay from Baiglie's side ; 
But where 's the Scot that would the vaunt-repay, 
And hail the puny Tiber for the Tay. 

Anonymous. 

Fair is the damsel, passing fair — 
Sunny at distance gleams her smile ! 

Approach — the cloud of woful care 
Hangs trembling in her eye the while. 

Lticinda, a Ballad. 

O FOR a draught of power to steep 
The soul of agony in sleep ! 

Bertha. 



Lo ! where he lies embalmed in gore. 
His wound to Heaven cries ; 

The floodgates of his blood implore 
For vengeance from the skies. 

Uranus and Psyche. 



From '■'■Anne of Geierstein." 

Cursed be the gold and silver which persuade 
Weak man to follow far fatiguing trade. 
The lily, peace, outshines the silver store, 
And life is dearer than the golden ore. 
Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown 
To every distant mart and wealthy town. 

Hassan, or the Camel- Driver. 

I WAS one 
Who loved the greenwood bank and lowing 

herd, 
The russet prize, the lowly peasant's life, 
Seasoned with sweet content, more than the halls 
Where revellers feast to f^ver-height. Believe 

me, 
There ne'er was poison mixed in maple bowl. 

Anonymous. 

When we two meet, we meet like rushing tor- 
rents ; 

Like warring winds, like flames from various 
points. 

That mate each other's fury — there is naught 

Of elemental strife, were fiends to guide it. 

Can match the wrath of man. 

Frenaud. 

We know not when we sleep nor when we wake. 
Visions distinct and perfect cross our eye. 
Which to the slumberer seem realities ; 
And while they waked, some men have seen such 

sights 
As set at naught the evidence of sense. 
And left them well persuaded they were dream- 

Anonytnotcs. 

These be the adept's doctrines — every ele- 
ment 
Is peopled with its separate race of spirits. 
The airy Sylphs on the blue ether float ; 
Deep in the earthy cavern skulks the Gnome ; 
The sea-green Naiad skims the ocean-billow, 
And the fierce fire is yet a friendly home 
To its peculiar sprite — the Salamander. 

Anonymojis. 

Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they cluster. 

The grapes of juice divine. 
Which make the soldier's jovial courage mus- 
ter; 
O, blessed be the Rhine ! 

Drinking-Song. 

Tell me not of it — I could ne'er abide 
The mummery of all that forced civility. 
' Pray, seat yourself, my lord.' With cringing 

hams 
The speech is spoken, and with bended knee 



560 



APPENDIX. 



Heard by the smiling courtier. — ' Before you, 

sir ? 
It must be on the earth, then.' Hang it all ! 
The pride which cloaks itself in such poor 

fashion 
Is scarcely fit to swell a beggar's bosom. 

Old Play. 

A MIRTHFUL man he was — the snows of age 
Fell, but they did not chill him. Gayety, 
Even in life's closing, touched his teeming brain 
With such wild visions as the setting sun 
Raises in front of some hoar glacier. 
Painting the bleak ice with a thousand hues. 

Old Play. 

Ay, this is he who wears the wreath of bays 

Wove by Apollo and the Sisters Nine, 

Which Jove's dread lightning scathes not. He 

hath doft 
The cumbrous helm of steel, and flung aside 
The yet more galling diadem of gold ; 
While, with a leafy circlet round his brows. 
He reigns the King of Lovers and of Poets. 

Want you a man 
Experienced in the world and its affairs .-* 
Here he is for your purpose. — He 's a monk. 
He hath forsworn the world and all its work — 
The rather that he knows it passing well, 
'Special the worst of it, for he 's a monk. 

Old Play. 
Toll, toll the bell ! 
Greatness is o'er. 
The heart has broke. 
To ache no more ; 
An unsubstantial pageant all — 
Drop o'er the scene the funeral pall. 

Old Poefn. 
Here 's a weapon now 
Shall shake a conquering general in his tent, 
A monarch on his throne, or reach a prelate. 
However holy be his offices, 
E'en while he serves the altar. 

Old Play. 



From " Count Robert of Paris.'^ 

Ot/ms. This superb successor 

Of the earth's mistress, as thou vainly speakest. 
Stands midst these ages as, on the wide ocean, 
The last spared fragment of a spacious land, 
That in some grand and awful ministration 
Of mighty nature has engulfed been, 
Doth lift aloft its dark and rocky cliffs . 
O'er the wild waste around, and sadly frowns 
In lonely majesty. 

Constantine Paleologus, Scene i . 

Here, youth, thy foot unbrace. 

Here, youth, thy brow unbraid. 
Each tribute that may grace 

The threshold here be paid. 
Walk with the stealthy pace 

Which Nature teaches deer. 
When, echoing in the chase, 

The hunter's horn they hear. 

The Court. 



The storm increases — 't is no sunny shower, 
Fostered in the moist breast of March or April, 
Or such as parched Summer cools his lip with; 
Heaven's windows are flung wide ; the inmost 

deeps 
Call in hoarse greeting one upon another ; 
On comes the flood in all its foaming horrors, 
And where 's the dike shall stop it ! 

The Deluge, a Poem. 

Vain man ! thou niayst esteem thy love as fair 

As fond hyperboles suffice to raise. 

She may be all that's matchless in her person, 

And all-divine in soul to match her body ; 

But take this from me — thou shalt never call her 

Superior to her sex while one survives 

And I am her true votary. 

Old Play. 

Through the vain webs which puzzle sophists 
skill, 
Plain sense and honest meaning work their 
way ; 
So sink the varying clouds upon the hill 
When the clear dawning brightens into day. 

Dr. Watts. 

Between the foaming jaws of the white torrent 
The skilful artist draws a sudden mound ; 
By level long he subdivides their strength. 
Stealing the waters from their rocky bed. 
First to diminish what he means to conquer ; 
Then, for the residue he forms a road. 
Easy to keep, and painful to desert. 
And guiding to the end the planner aimed at. 
The Engineer. 

These were wild times — the antipodes of ours : 
Ladies were there who oftener saw themselves 
In the broad lustre of a foeman's shield 
Than in a mirror, and who rather sought 
To match themselves in battle than in dalliance 
To meet a lover's onset. — But though Nature 
Was outraged thus, she was not overcome. 
Feudal Times. 

Without a ruin, broken, tangled, cumbrous, 
Within it was a little paradise. 
Where Taste had made her dwelling. Statuary, 
First-born of human art, moulded her images 
And bade men mark and worship. 

Anonymous. 

The parties met. The wily, wordy Greek, 
Weighing each word, and canvassing each syl- 
lable, 
Evading, arguing, equivocating. 
And the stern Frank came with his two-hand 

sword. 
Watching to see which way the balance sways, 
That he may throw it in and turn the scales. 

Palestine. 

Strange ape of man ! who loathes thee while 

he scorns thee ; 
Half a reproach to us and half a jest. 
What fancies can be ours ere we have pleasure 
In viewing our own form, our pride and passions, 
Reflected in a shape grotesque as thine ! 

Anonymous. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS. 



561 



'T IS strange that in the dark sulphureous mine 
Where wild ambition piles its ripening stores 
Of slumbering thunder, Love will interpose 
His tiny torch, and cause the stern explosion 
To burst when the deviser 's least aware. 

Anony?nous. 

All is prepared — the chambers of the mine 
Are crammed with the combustible, which, 

harmless 
While yet unkindled as the sable sand. 
Needs but a spark to change its nature so 
That he who wakes it from its slumbrous mood 
Dreads scarce the explosion less than he who 

knows 
That 't is his towers which meet its fury. 

Anonymous. 

Heaven knows its time ; the bullet has its 

billet, 
Arrow and javelin each its destined purpose : 
The fated beasts of Nature's lower strain 
Have each their separate task. 

Old Play. 



From " Castle Dangerous" 

A TALE of sorrow, for your eyes may weep ; 
A tale of horror, for your flesh may tingle ; 
A tale of wonder, for the eyebrows arch. 
And the flesh curdles if you read it rightly. 

Old Play. 



Where is he .' Has the deep earth swallowed 

him ? 
Or hath he melted like some airy phantom 
That shuns the approach of morn and the 

young sun ? 
Or hath he wrapt him in Cimmerian darkness. 
And passed beyond the circuit of the sight 
With things of the night's shadows 1 

A7ionynious. 

The way is long, my children, long and rough — 
The moors are dreary and the woods are dark ; 
But he that creeps from cradle on to grave. 
Unskilled save in the velvet course of fortune. 
Hath missed the discipline of noble hearts. 

Old Play. 

His talk was of another world — his bodements 
Strange, doubtful, and mysterious ; those who 

heard him 
Listened as to a man in feverish dreams. 
Who speaks of other objects than the present, 
And mutters like to him who sees a vision. 

Old Play. 

Cry the wild war-note, let the champions pass, 

Do bravely each, and God defend the right ; 

Upon Saint Andrew thrice can they thus cry. 

And thrice they shout on height, 

And then marked them on the Englishmen, 

As I have told you right. 

Saint George the bright, our ladies' knight, 

To name they jvere full fain ; 

Our Englishmen they cried on height. 

And thrice they shout again. 

Old Ballad. 




36 



* NOTES. 





NOTES 



Clje lap of tI)E ILast JHmstrel. 



The Lay was first published early in January, 
1805, in "a magnificent quarto," the price being 
25 shillings (about $6.25 in Federal money), 
and the edition o£ 750 copies was speedily ex- 
hausted. U]3 to 1830 the sales had amounted 
to 44,000 copies. 

The poem had the following preface : — 

" The Poem, now offered to the Public, is in- 
tended to illustrate the customs and manners 
which anciently prevailed on the Borders of 
England and Scotland. The inhabitants living 
in a state partly pastoral and partly warlike, 
and combining habits of constant depredation 
with the influence of a rude spirit of chivalry, 
were often engaged in scenes highly susceptible 
of poetical ornament. As the description of 
scenery and manners was more the object of the 
Author than a combined and regular narrative, 
the plan of the Ancient Metrical Romance was 
adopted, which allows greater latitude, in this 
respect, than would be consistent with the dig- 
nity of a regular Poem. The same model of- 
fered other facilities, as it permits an occasional 
alteration of measure, which, in some degree, 
authorizes the change of rhythm in the text. 
The machinery, also, adopted from jjopular 
belief, would have seemed puerile in a Poem 
which did not partake of the rudeness of the 
old Ballad, or Metrical Romance. 

" For these reasons, the Poem was put into 
the mouth of an ancient Minstrel, the last of 
the race, who, as he is supposed to have sur- 
vived the Revolution, might have caught some- 
what of the refinement of modern poetry, without 
losing the simplicity of his original model. The 
date of the Tale itself is about the middle of the 
sixteenth century, when most of the personages 
actually flourished. The time occupied by the 
action is Three Nights and Three Days." 

The edition of 1830 had the following " Intro- 
duction": — 

"A Poem of nearly thirty years' standing may 
be supposed hardly to need an Introduction, 
since, without one, it has been able to keep itself 
afloat through the best part of a generation. 
Nevertheless, as, in the edition of the Waverlev 
Novels now in course of publication [1830], I 
have imposed on myself the task of saying some- 



thing concerning the purpose and history of 
each, in their turn, I am desirous that the Poems 
for which I first received some marks of the 
public favor should also be accompanied with 
such scraps of their literary history as may be 
supposed to carry interest along with them. 
Even if I should be mistaken in thinking that 
the secret history of what was once so popular 
may still attract public attention and curiosity, 
it seems to me not without its use to record the 
manner and circumstances under which the pres- 
ent, and other Poems on the same plan, attained 
for a season an extensive reputation. 

" I must resume the story of my literary la- 
bors at the period at which I broke off in the 
Essay on the Imitation of Popular Poetry, 1 
when I had enjoyed the first gleam of public 
favour, by the success of the first edition of the 
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. The second 
edition of that work, published in 1803, proved, 
in the language of the trade, rather a heavy con- 
cern. The demand in Scotland had been sup- 
plied by the first edition, and the curiosity of 
the English was not much awakened by poems 
in the rude garb of anticjuity, accompanied witii 
notes referring to the obscure feuds of barbar- 
ous clans, of whose very names civilized his- 
tory was ignorant. It was, on the whole, one of 
those books which are more praised than they 
are read. 

" At this time I stood personally in a different 
position from that which I occupied when I 
first dipt my desperate pen in ink for other pur- 
poses than those of my profession. In 1796. 
when I first published the translations from 
Biirger, I was an insulated individual, with only 
my own wants to provide for, and having, in a 
great measure, my own inclinations alone to 
consult. In 1S03, when the second edition of 

' In this essay, printed in the 1S30 edition of the Bor- 
der Minstrelsy, Scott gives an account of his schoolboy 
attempts at writinc verse, of his translations of Biirger's 
Leiiore and Der IVilde yuger (brought out in 1796 under 
the title of IVilliam and Helen, but " a dead loss" to the 
publishers), of his subsequent versions of sundry German 
dramas, of his first attempts at ballad-writing ((5/if«/?«/a.y 
and The Evi of St. John, included in " Monk " Lewis's 
Tales 0/ Wonder in iSoi), and of his first literary success 
in the Border Minstrelsy of 1S02. 



566 



NOTES. 



the Minstrelsy appeared, I had arrived at a 
period of life when men. however thoughtless, 
encounter duties and circumstances which press 
consideration and plans of life upon the most 
careless minds. I had been for some time mar- 
ried, — was the father of a rising family, and, 
though fully enabled to meet the consequent 
demands upon me, it was my duty and desire to 
place myself in a situation which would enable 
me to make honorable provision against the 
various contingencies of life. 

" It may be readily supposed that the attempts 
which I had made in literature had been unfav- 
orable to my success at the bar. The goddess 
Themis is, at Edinburgh, and I suppose every- 
where else, of a peculiarly jealous disposition. 
She will not readily consent to share her au- 
thority, and sternly demands from her votaries, 
not only that real duty be carefully attended to 
and discharged, but that a certain air of busi- 
ness shall be observed even in the midst of total 
idleness. It is prudent, if not absolutely neces- 
sary, in a young barrister, to appear completely 
engrossed by his profession ; however destitute 
of employment he may in reality be, he ought 
to preserve, if possible, the appearance of full 
occupation. He should, therefore, seem per- 
petually engaged among his law-papers, dust- 
ing them, as it were ; and, as Ovid advises the 
fair, 

' Si nullus erit pulvis, tamen excute nullum.' ' 

Perhaps such e.xtremity of attention is more 
especially required, considering the great num- 
ber of counsellors who are called to the bar, and 
how very small a proportion of them are finally 
disposed, or find encouragement, to follow the 
law as a profession. Hence the number of 
deserters is so great that the least lingering 
look behind occasions a young novice to be set 
down as one of the intending fugitives. Certain 
it is, that the Scottish Themis was at this time 
peculiarly jealous of any flirtation with the 
Muses, on the part of those who had ranged 
themselves under her banners. This was prob- 
ably owing to her consciousness of the superior 
attractions of her rivals. Of late, however, she 
has relaxed in some instances in this particular, 
an eminent e.xample of which has been shown 
in the case of my friend Mr. Jeffrey, who, after 
long conducting one of the most influential lit- 
erary periodicals of the age with unquestion- 
able ability, has been, by the general consent of 
his brethren, recently elected to be their Dean of 
Faculty, or President, — being the highest ac- 
knowledgment of his professional talents which 
they had it in their power to offer. But this is 
an incident much beyond the ideas of a period 
of thirty years' distance, when a barrister who 
really possessed any turn for lighter literature 
was at as much pains to conceal it as if it had 
in reality been something to be ashamed of ; and 
I could mention more than one instance in which 
literature and society have suffered much loss 
that jurisprudence might be enriched. 

" Such, however, was not my case ; for the 

' " If dust be none, yet brush that none away." 



reader wili not wonder that my open interfer- 
ence with matters of light literature diminished 
my employment in the weightier matters of the 
law. Nor did the solicitors, upon whose choice 
the counsel takes rank in his profession, do me 
less than justice, by regarding others among my 
contemporaries as fitter to discharge the dutv 
due to their clients, than a young man who was 
taken up with running after ballads, whether 
Teutonic or national. My profession and I, 
therefore, came to stand nearly upon the foot- 
ing which honest Slender consoled himself on 
having established with Mistress Anne Page ; 
' There was no great love between us at the be- 
ginning, and it pleased Heaven to decrease it 
on farther acquaintance.' I became sensible 
that the time was come when I must either 
buckle myself resolutely to the 'toil by day, the 
lamp by night,' renouncing all the Delilahs of 
my imagination, or bid adieu to the profession 
of the law, and hold another course. 

" I confess my own inclination revolted from 
the more severe choice, which might have been 
deemVd by many the wiser alternative As my 
transgressions had been numerous, my repent- 
ance must have been signalized by unusual sac- 
rifices. I ought to have mentioned that since 
my fourteenth or fifteenth year my health, ori- 
ginally delicate, had become extremely robust. 
From infancy I had labored under the infirmity 
of a severe lameness ; but, as I believe is usu- 
ally the case with men of spirit who suffer under 
personal inconveniences of this nature, I had, 
since the improvement of my health, in defi- 
ance of this incapacitating circumstance, dis- 
tinguished myself by the endurance of toil on 
foot or horseback, having often walked thirty 
miles a day, and rode upwards of a hundred, 
without resting. In this manner 1 made many 
pleasant journeys through parts of the country 
then not very accessible, gaining more amuse- 
ment and instruction than I have been able to 
acquire since I have travelled in a more com- 
modious manner. I practised most sylvan s]Dorts 
also, with some success and with great delight. 
But these pleasures must have been all resigned, 
or used with great moderation, had I determined 
to regain my station at the bar. It was even 
doubtful whether I could, with perfect character 
as a jurisconsult, retain a situation in a volun- 
teer corps of cavalry, which I then held. The 
threats of invasion were at this time instant and 
menacing; the call by Britain on her children 
was universal, and was answered by some, who, 
like myself, consulted rather their desire than 
their ability to bear arms. My services, how- 
ever, were found useful in assisting to maintain 
the discipline of the corps, being the point on 
which their constitution rendered them most 
amenable to military criticism. In other re- 
spects the squadron was a fine one, consisting 
chiefly of handsome men, well mounted and 
armed at their own expense. My attention to 
the corps took up a good deal of time ; and 
while it occupied many of the happiest hours 
of my life, it furnished an additional reason for 
my reluctance again to encounter the severe 



THE LA Y OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



567 



course of study indispensable to success in the 
juridical profession. 

" On the other hand, my father, whose feel- 
ings might have been hurt by my quitting the 
bar, had been for two or three years dead, so 
that I had no control to thwart my own inclina- 
tion ; and my income being equal to all the com- 
forts, and some of the elegancies, of life, I was 
not pressed to an irksome labor by necessity, 
that most powerful of motives; consequently, 
I was the more easily seduced to choose the 
employment which was most agreeable to me. 
This was yet the easier, that in 1800 I had ob- 
tained the preferment of Sheriff of Selkirkshire, 
about ^^300 a-year in value, and which was the 
more agreeable to me as in that county I had sev- 
eral friends and relations. But I did not abandon 
the profession to which I had been educated 
without certain prudential resolutions, which, 
at the risk of some egotism, I will here men- 
tion ; not without the hope that they may be 
useful to young persons who may stand in cir- 
cumstances similar to those in which I then 
stood. 

" In the first place, upon considering the lives 
and fortunes of persons who had given them- 
selves up to literature, or to the task of pleas- 
ing the public, it seemed to me that the circum- 
stances which chiefly affected their happiness 
and character were those from which Horace 
has bestowed upon authors the epithet of the 
Irritable Race. It requires no depth of philo- 
sophic reflection to perceive that the petty war- 
fare of Pope with the Dunces of his period 
could not have been carried on without his suf- 
fering the most acute torture, such as a man 
must endure from mosquitoes, by whose stings 
he suffers agony, although he can crush them 
in his grasp by myriads. Nor is it necessary to 
call to memory the many humiliating instances 
in which men of the greatest genius have, to 
avenge some pitiful quarrel, made themselves 
ridiculous during their lives, to become the 
still more degraded objects of pity to future 
times. 

"Upon the whole, as I had no pretension to 
the genius of the distinguished persons who had 
fallen into such errors. I concluded there could 
be no occasion for imitating them in their mis- 
takes, or what I considered as such ; and, in 
adopting literary pursuits as the principal occu- 
pation of my future life, I resolved, if possible, 
to avoid those weaknesses of temper which 
seemed to have most easily beset my more 
celebrated predecessors. 

" With this view, it was my first resolution 
to keep as far as was in my power abreast of 
society, continuing to maintain my place in gen- 
eral company, without yielding to the very nat- 
ural temptation of narrowing myself to what is 
called literary society. By doing so, I imagined 
I should escape the besetting sin of listening to 
language which, from one motive or other, is apt 
to ascribe a very undue degree of consequence 
to literary pursuits, as if they were, indeed, the 
business, rather than the amusement, of life. 
The opposite course can only be compared to 



the injudicious conduct of one who pampers 
himself with cordial and luscious draughts, 
until he is unable to endure wholesome bit- 
ters. Like Gil Bias, therefore, I resolved to 
stick by the society of my commis, instead of 
seeking that of a more literary cast, and to main- 
tain my general interest in what was going on 
around me, reserving the man of letters for the 
desk and the library. 

" My second resolution was a corollary from 
the first. I determined that, without shutting 
my ears to the voice of true criticism, I would 
pay no regard to that which assumes the form 
of satire. I therefore resolved to arm myself 
with that triple brass of Horace, of which those 
of my profession are seldom held deficient, 
against all the roving warfare of satire, parody, 
and sarcasm ; to laugh if the jest was a good 
one ; or, if otherwise, to let it hum and buzz 
itself to sleep. 

" It is to the observance of these rules (ac- 
cording to my best belief) that, after a life of 
thirty years engaged in literary labors of vari- 
ous kinds, I attribute my never having been en- 
tangled in any literary quarrel or controversy ; 
and, which is a still more pleasing result, that I 
have been distinguished by the personal friend- 
ship of my most approved contemporaries of 
all parties. 

" I adopted, at the same time, another I'eso- 
lution, on which it may doubtless be remarked 
that it was well for me that I had it in my 
power to do so, and that, therefore, it is a line 
of conduct which, depending upon accident, can 
be less generally applicable in other cases. Yet 
I fail not to record this part of my plan, con- 
vinced that, though it may not be in every one's 
power to adopt exactly the same resolution, he 
may nevertheless, by his own exertions, in some 
shape or other, attain the object on which it 
was founded, namely, to secure the means of 
subsistence, without relying e.xclusively on liter- 
ary talents. In this respect, I determined that 
literature should be my staff, but not my crutch, 
and that the profits of my literary labor, how- 
ever convenient otherwise, should not, if I 
could help it, become necessary to my ordi- 
nary expenses. With this purpose I resolved, 
if the interest of my friends could so far favor 
me, to retire upon any of the respectable offices 
of the law, in which persons of that profession 
are glad to take refuge, when they feel them- 
selves, or are judged by others, incompetent to 
aspire to its higher honors. Upon such a 
post an author might hope to retreat, without 
any percejitible alteration of circumstances, 
whenever the time should arrive that the pub- 
lic grew weary of his endeavors to please, or 
he himself should tire of the pen. At this 
period of my life, I possessed so many friends 
capable of assisting me in this object of ambi- 
tion, that I could hardly overrate my own 
prospects of obtaining the preferment to which 
I limited my wishes; and, in fact, I obtained, 
in no long period, the reversion of a situation 
which completely met them. 

" Thus far all was well, and the Author had 



568 



NOTES. 



been guilty, perhaps, of no great imprudence, 
when he relinquished his forensic practice with 
the hope of making some figure in the field of 
literature. But an established character with 
the public, in my new capacity, still remained 
to be acquired. I have noticed that the trans- 
lations from BUrger had been unsuccessful, nor 
had the original poetry which appeared under 
the auspices of Mr. Lewis, in the ' Tales of 
Wonder,' in any great degree raised my reputa- 
tion. It is true, I had private friends disposed 
to second me in my efforts to obtain popular- 
ity. But I was sportsman enough to know, that 
if the greyhound does not run well, the halloos 
of his patrons will not obtain the prize for 
him. 

" Neither was I ignorant that the practice 
of ballad-writing was for the present out of 
fashion, and that any attempt to revive it, or 
to found a poetical character upon it, would 
certainly fail of success. The ballad measure 
itself, which was once listened to as to an en- 
chanting melody, had become hackneyed and 
sickening, from its being the accompaniment 
of every grinding hand-organ ; and besides, a 
long work in quatrains, whether thos.e of the 
common ballad, or such as are termed elegiac, 
has an effect upon the mind like that of the 
bed of Procrustes upon tiie human body ; for, 
as it must be both awkward and difficult to 
carry on a long sentence from one stanza to 
another, it follows that the meaning of each 
period must be comprehended within four lines, 
and equally so that it must be extended so as 
to fill that space. The alternate dilation and 
contraction thus rendered necessary is singu- 
larly unfavorable to narrative composition; 
and the 'Gondibert' of Sir William D'Ave- 
nant, though containing many striking passages, 
has never become popular, owing chiefly to its 
being told in this species of elegiac verse. 

" In the dilemma occasioned by this objec- 
tion, the idea occurred to the Author of using 
the measured short line, which forms the struc- 
ture of so much minstrel poetry, that it may be 
properly termed the Romantic stanza, by way 
of distinction; and which appears so natural 
to our language, that the very best of our poets 
have not been able to protract it into the verse 
properly called Heroic, without the use of epi- 
thets which are, to say the least, unnecessary.^ 
But, on the other hand, the extreme facility of 
the short couplet, which seems congenial to our 
language, and was, doubtless for that reason, 
so popular with our old minstrels, is, for the 
same reason, apt to prove a snare to the com- 
poser who uses it in more modern days, by 
encouraging him in a habit of slovenly com- 

' "Thus it has been often remarked, that, in the open- 
ing couplets of Pope's translation of the Iliad, there are two 
syllables forming a superfluous word in each line, as may 
be observed by attending to such words as are printed in 
Italics. 

' Achilles' wrath to Greece the direful spring 
Of woes unnuinber'd, heavejtly goddess, sing ; 
That wrath which sent to Pluto's f;tootny reign, 
Tile souls of tnighty chiefs in battle slain, 
Whose bones, unburicd on the desert shore, 
Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore.' " 



position. The necessity of occasional pauses 
often forces the young poet to pay more 
attention to sense, as the boy's kite rises 
highest when the train is loaded by a due 
counterpoise. The Author was therefore intimi- 
dated by what Byron calls the ' fatal facility ' 
of the octosyllabic verse, which was otherwise 
better adapted to his purpose of imitating the 
more ancient poetry. 

" I was not less at a loss for a subject which 
might admit of being treated with the simplic- 
ity and wiJdness of the ancient ballad. But 
accident dictated both a theme and measure 
which decided the subject as well as the struc- 
ture of the poem. 

"The lovely young Countess of Ualkeith, 
afterwards Harriet Duchess of Buccieuch, 
had come to the land of her husband with 
the desire of making herself acquainted with 
its traditions and customs, as well as its man- 
ners and history. All who remember this lady 
will agree that the intellectual character of her 
extreme beauty, the amenity and courtesy of 
her manners, the soundness of her understand- 
ing, and her unbounded benevolence, gave 
more the idea of an angelic visitant than of 
a being belonging to this nether world ; and 
such a thought was but too consistent with the 
short space she was permitted to tarry among 
us. Of course, where all made it a pride and 
pleasure to gratify her wishes, she soon heard 
enough of Border lore ; among others, an aged 
gentleman of property, i near Langholm, com- 
municated to her ladyship the story of Gilpin 
Horner, a tradition in which the narrator, and 
many more of that country, were firm believers. 
The young Countess, much delighted with the 
legend, and the gravity and full confidence with 
which it was told, enjoined on me as a task to 
compose a ballad on the subject. Of course, to 
hear was to obey ; and thus the goblin story ob- 
jected to by several critics as an excrescence 
upon the poem was, in fact, the occasion of its 
being written. 

" A chance similar to that which dictated the 
subject gave me also the hint of a new mode 
of treating it. We had at that time the lease 
of a pleasant cottage near Lasswade, on the 
romantic banks of the Esk, to which we es- 
caped when the vacations of the Court per- 
mitted me so much leisure. Here I had the 
pleasure to receive a visit from Mr. Stoddart 
(now Sir John Stoddart, Judge-Advocate at 
Malta), who was at that time collecting the 
particulars which he afterwards embodied in 

' This was Mr. Beattie of Mickledale, a man then con- 
siderably upwards of eighty, of a shrewd and sarcastic 
temper, which he did not at all times suppress, as the fol- 
lowing anecdote will show: — A worthy clergyman, now 
deceased, with better good-will than tact, was endeavor- 
ing to push the senior forward in his recollection of Border 
ballads and legends, by expressing reiterated surprise at 
his wonderful memory. " No, sir," said old Mickledale ; 
" my memory is good for little, for it cor.not retain what 
ought to be preserved. I can remember all these stories 
about the auld riding days, which are of no earthly im- 
portance : but were you, reverend sir; to repeat your best 
sermon in this drawing-room, I could not tell you half an 
hour afterwards what you had been speaking about.' 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



569 



his Remarks on Local Scenery in Scotland. I 
was of some use to him in procuring the in- 
formation which he desired, and guiding him 
to the scenes which he wished to see. In re- 
turn, he made me better acquainted than I had 
hitherto been with the poetic effusions which 
have since made the Lakes of Westmoreland, 
and the authors by whom they have been sung, 
so famous wherever the English tongue is 
spoken. 

"I was already acquainted with the 'Joan of 
Arc,' the ' Thalaba,' and the ' Metrical Ballads ' 
of Mr. Southey, which had found their way to 
Scotland, and were generally admired. But 
Mr. Stoddart, who had the advantage of per- 
sonal friendship with the authors, and who pos- 
sessed a strong memory with an e.xcellent taste, 
was able to repeat to me many long specimens 
of their poetry, which had not yet appeared in 
print. Amongst others, was the striking frag- 
ment called Christabel, by Mr. Coleridge, which, 
from the singularly irregular structure of the 
stanzas, and the liberty which it allowed the 
author to adapt the sound to the sense, seemed 
to be exactly suited to such an extravaganza as 
I meditated on the subject of Gilpin Horner. 
As applied to comic and humorous poetry, this 
mescolanza of measures had been already used 
by Anthony Hall, Anstey, Dr. Wolcott, and 
others ; but it was in Christabel that I first 
found it used in serious poetry, and it is to Mr. 
Coleridge that I am bound to make the ac- 
knowledgment due from the pupil to his 
master. I observe that Lord Byron, in notic- 
ing my obligations to Mr. Coleridge, which I 
have been always most ready to acknowledge,' 
expressed, or was understood to express, a 
hope that I did not write an unfriendly review 
on Mr. Coleridge's productions. On this sub- 
ject I have only to say that I do not even know 
the review which is alluded to ; and were I ever 
to take the unbecoming freedom of censuring 
a man of Mr. Coleridge's extraordinary talents, 
it would be on account of the caprice and in- 
dolence with which he has thrown from him, 
as if in mere wantonness, those unfinished 
scraps of poetry, which, like the Torso of an- 
tiquity, defy the skill of his poetical brethren 
to com]3lete them. The charming fragments 
which the author abandons to their fate, are 
surely too valuable to be treated like the proofs 
of careless engravers, the sweepings of whose 
studios often make the fortune of some pains- 
taking collector. 

" I did not immediately proceed upon my 
projected labor, though I was now furnished 
with a subject, and with a structure of verse 
which might have the effect of novelty to the 
public ear, and afford the author an oppor- 
tunity of varying his measure with the varia- 
tions of a romantic theme. On the contrary, 
it was, to the best of my recollection, more 
than a year after Mr. Stoddart's visit, that, by 
way of experiment, I composed the first two or 
three stanzas of ' The Lay of the Last Min- 
strel.' I was shortly afterwards visited by two 
intimate friends, one of whom still survives. 



They were men whose talents might have 
raised them to the highest station in litera- 
ture, had they not preferred exerting them in 
their own profession of the law, in which they 
attained equal preferment. I was in the habit 
of consulting them on my attempts at composi- 
tion, having equal confidence in their sound 
taste and friendly sincerity. In this specimen 
I had, in the phrase of the Highland servant, 
packed all that was my own at least, for I had 
also included a line of invocation, a little soft- 
ened, from Coleridge — 

' Mary, mother, shield us well.' 
As neither of my friends said much to me on 
the subject of the stanzas I showed them before 
their departure, I had no doubt that their dis- 
gust had been greater than their good-nature 
chose to express. Looking upon them, there- 
fore, as a failure, I threw the manuscript into 
the fire, and thought as little more as I could 
of the matter. Some time afterwards I met 
one of my two counsellors, who inquired, with 
considerable appearance of interest, about the 
progress of the romance I had commenced, and 
was greatly surprised at learning its fate. He 
confessed that neither he nor our mutual friend 
had been at first able to give a precise opinion 
on a poem so much out of the common road ; 
but that as they walked home together to the 
city, they had talked much on the subject, and 
the result was an earnest desire that I would 
proceed with the composition. He also added, 
that some sort of prologue might be necessary, 
to place the mind of the hearers in the situa- 
tion to understand and enjoy the poem, and 
recommended the adoption of such quaint 
mottoes as Spenser has used to announce the 
contents of the chapters of the Faery Queen, 
such as — 



s — 
' Babe's bloody hands may not be cleansed. 

The face of golden Mean : 
Her sisters two, Extremities, 

Strive her to banish clean. 



I entirely agreed with my friendly critic in the 
necessity of having some sort of pitch-pipe, 
which might make readers aware of the object, 
or rather the tone, of the publication. But I 
doubted whether, in assuming the oracular 
style of Spenser's mottoes, the interpreter 
might not be censured as the harder to be 
understood of the two. I therefore introduced 
the Old Minstrel, as an appropriate prolocutor 
by whom the lay might be sung or spoken, and 
the introduction of whom betwixt the cantos 
might remind the reader at intervals of the 
time, place, and circumstances of the recitation. 
This species of cadre, or frame, afterwards af- 
forded the poem its name of ' The Lay of the 
Last Minstrel.' 

"The work was subsequently shown to other 
friends during its progress, and received the 
imprimatur of Mr. Francis Jeffrey, who had 
been already for some time distinguished by 
his critical talent. 

" The poem, being once licensed by the critics 
as fit for the market, was soon finished, proceed- 
ing at about the rate of a canto per week. There 



570 



NOTES. 



was, indeed, little occasion for pause or hesita- 
tion, when a troublesome rhyme might be ac- 
commodated by an alteration of the stanza, or 
where an incorrect measure might be remedied 
by a variation of the rhyme. It was finally 
published in 1805, and may be regarded as the 
first work in which the writer, who has been 
since so voluminous, laid his claim to be con- 
sidered as an original author. 

" The book was published by Longman and 
Company, and Archibald Constable and Com- 
pany. The principal of the latter firm was 
then commencing that course of bold and lib- 
eral industry which was of so much advantage 
to his country, and might have been so to him- 
self, but for causes which it is needless to enter 
into here. The work, brought out on the usual 
terms of division of profits between the author 
and publishers, was not long after purchased by 
them for ^500, to which Messrs. Longman and 
Company afterwards added ;^ioo, in their own 
unsolicited kindness, in consequence of the un- 
common success of the work. It was hand- 
somely given to supply the loss of a fine horse, 
which broke down suddenly while the Author 
was riding with one of the worthy publishers. 

" It would be great affectation not to own 
frankly, that the Author expected some success 
from ' The Lay of the Last Minstrel.' The 
attempt to return to a more simple and natural 
style of poetry was likely to be welcomed, at 
a time when the public had become tired of 
heroic hexameters, with all the buckram and 
binding which belong to them of later days. 
But whatever might have been his expecta- 
tions, whether moderate or unreasonable, the 
result left them far behind, for among those 
who smiled on the adventurous Minstrel were 
numbered the great names of William Pitt and 
Charles Fox. Neither was the extent of the 
sale inferior to the character of the judges who 
received the poem with approbation. Upwards 
of thirty thousand copies of the Lay were dis- 
posed of by the trade ; and the Author had to 
perform a task difficult to human vanity, when 
called upon to make the necessary deductions 
from his own merits, in a calm attempt to 
account for his popularity. 

" A few additional remarks on the Author's 
literary attempts after this period, will be found 
in the Introduction to the Poem of Marmion. 

" Abbotsford, y^/r//, 1830." 



CANTO FIRST. 

i.i Branksome tmuer. In the reign of James 
I., Sir William Scott of Buccleuch, chief of the 
clan bearing that name, exchanged, with Sir 
Thomas Inglis of Manor, the estate of Mur- 
diestone, in Lanarkshire, for one-half of the 
barony of Branksome, or Brankholm, lying 
upon the Teviot, about three miles above 
Hawick. He was probably induced to this 

■■ The numbers are those of stanzas. 



transaction from the vicinity of Branksome to 
the extensive domain which he possessed in 
Ettrick Forest and in Teviotdale. In the for- 
mer district he held by occupancy the estate of 
Buccleuch, and much of the forest land on the 
river Ettrick. In Teviotdale, he enjoyed the 
biarony of Eckford, by a grant from Robert II. 
to his ancestor, Walter Scott of Kirkurd, for 
the apprehending of Gilbert Ridderford, con- 
firmed by Robert III., 3d May, 1424. Tradi- 
tion imputes the exchange betwixt Scott and 
Inglis to a conversation, in which the latter, a 
man, it would appear, of a mild and forbearing 
nature, complained much of the injuries which 
he was exposed to from the English Borderers, 
who frequently plundered his lands of Brank- 
some. Sir William Scott instantly offered him 
the estate of Murdiestonc, in exchange for that 
which was subject to such egregious inconven- 
ience. When the bargain was completed, he 
dryly remarked that the cattle in Cumberland 
were as good as those of Teviotdale ; and pro- 
ceeded to commence a system of reprisals upon 
the English, which was regularly pursued by 
his successors. In the next reign, James II. 
granted to Sir Walter Scott of Branksome, and 
to Sir David, his son, the remaining half of the 
barony of Branksome, to be held in blanche for 
the payment of a red rose. The cause assigned 
for the grant is, their brave and faithful exer- 
tions in favor of the King against the house of 
Douglas, with whom James had been recently 
tugging for the throne of Scotland. 

3. Nijie-aiid-tiociity knights, etc. The ancient 
Barons of Buccleuch, both from feudal splendor 
and from their frontier situation, retained in 
their household, at Branksome, a number of 
gentlemen of their own name, who held lands 
from their chief, for the military service of 
watching and warding his castle. 

5. Jediiiood-axe. " Of a truth," says Frois- 
sart, "the Scottish cannot boast great skill with 
the bow, but rather bear axes, with which, in 
time of need, they give heavy strokes." The 
Jedwood-axe was a sort of partisan, used by 
horsemen, as appears from the arms of Jed- 
burgh, which bear a cavalier mounted, and 
armed with this weapon. It is also called a 
Jedwood or Jeddart staff. 

6. Tht'v 7vatth, etc. Branksome Castle was 
continually exposed to the attacks of the Eng- 
lish, both from its situation and the restless 
military disposition of its inhabitants, who 
were seldom on good terms with their neigh- 
bors. 

7. Bards long shall fell, tic. Sir Walter Scott 
of Buccleuch succeeded to his grandfather. Sir 
David, in 1492. He was a brave and powerful 
baron, and Warden of the West Marches of 
Scotland. His death was the consequence of a 
feud betwixt the Scotts and Kerrs, which, in 
spite of all means used to bring about an agree- 
ment, raged for many years upon the Borders. 

8. No ! vainly to each holy shrine, etc. Among" 
other expedients resorted to for stanching the 
feud betwixt the Scotts and the Kerrs, there 
was a bond executed in 1529, between the heads 



THE LA Y OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



571 



of each clan, binding themselves to perform 
reciprocally the four principal pilgrimages of 
Scotland for the benefit of the souls of those 
of the opposite name who had fallen in the 
quarrel. This indenture is printed in the Min- 
strelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. i. But either 
it never took effect, or else the feud was re- 
newed shortly afterwards. 

10. Carr. The family of Ker, Kerr, or Carr, 
was very powerful on the Border. Cessford 
Castle, the ancient baronial residence of the 
family, is situated near the village of More- 
battle, within two or three miles of the Cheviot 
Hills. It has been a place of great strength 
and consequence, but is now ruinous. 

ID. Lord Cranstoitii. The Cranstouns, Lord 
Cranstoun, are an ancient Border family, whose 
chief seat was at Crailing, in Teviotdale. They 
were at this time at feud with the clan of Scott ; 
for it appears that the Lady of Buccleuch, in 
'557' beset the Laird of Cranstoun, seeking his 
life. Nevertheless, the same Cranstoun, or 
perhaps his son, was married to a daughter of 
the same lady. 

11. Bethiine's line of Picardie. The Bethunes 
were of French origin, and derived their name 
from a small town in Artois. There were sev- 
eral distinguished families of the Bethunes in 
the neighboring province of Picardy ; they 
numbered among their descendants the cele- 
brated Due de Sully; and the name was ac- 
counted among the most noble in France, while 
aught noble remained in that country. 

II. Padua. Padua was long supposed, by 
the Scottish peasants, to be the principal 
school of necromancy. 

11. His form no darkening shadow traced, etc. 
The shadow of a necromancer is independent 
of the sun. Glycas informs us, that Simon 
Magus caused his shadow to go before him, 
making people believe it was an attendant 
spirit (Hey wood's Hierarchic, p. 475). 

12. Till to her bidding, etc. The Scottish 
vulgar, without having any very defined notion 
of their attributes, believe in the existence of 
an intermediate class of spirits, residing in the 
air or in the waters ; to whose agency they as- 
cribe floods, storms, and all such phenomena 
as their own philosophy cannot readily explain. 
They are supposed to interfere in the affairs of 
mortals, sometimes with a malevolent purpose, 
and sometimes with milder views. 

19. The Crescents and the Star. The arms of 
the Kerrs of Cessford were, Vert on a chevron, 
betwixt three unicorns' heads erased argent, 
three mullets sable; crest, a unicorn's head 
erased proper. The Scotts of Buccleuch bore, 
Or, on a bend azure ; a star of six points be- 
tvvi.xt two crescents of the first. 

20. William of Deloraine. The lands of 
Deloraine are joined to those of Buccleuch in 
Ettrick Forest. They were immemorially pos- 
sessed by the Buccleuch family, under the 
strong title of occupancy, although no charter 
was obtained from the crown until 1545. 

21. By wily turns, etc. The kings and heroes 
of Scotland, as well as the Border-riders, were 



sometimes obliged to study how to evade the 
pursuit of bloodhounds. Barbour informs us 
that Robert Bruce was repeatedly tracked by 
sleuth-dogs. On one occasion he escaped by 
wading a bow-shot down a brook, and ascend- 
ing into a tree by a branch which overhung the 
water; thus, leaving no trace on land of his 
footsteps, he baffled the scent. 

24. Were 't my neck-verse, etc. Hairibee was 
the place of executing the Border marauders 
at Carlisle. The neck-verse is the beginning of 
the 51st Psalm, Miserere mei, etc., anciently 
read by criminals claiming the benefit of clergy. 

25. The Moat-hill's moimd. This is a round 
artificial mount near Hawick, which, from its 
name [Mot, A. S. Conciliiun, Conventus), was 
probably anciently used as a place for assem- 
bling a national council of the adjacent tribes. 
There are many such mounds in Scotland, aifd 
they are sometimes, but rarely, of a square form. 

27. Minto-crags. A romantic assemblage of 
cliffs, which rise suddenly above the vale of 
Teviot, in the immediate vicinity of the family- 
seat from which Lord Minto takes his title. A 
small platform, on a projecting crag, command- 
ing a most beautiful prospect, is termed Barn- 
hills' Bed. This Barnhills is said to have been 
a robber, or outlaw. There are remains of a 
strong tower beneath the rocks, where he is 
supposed to have dwelt, and from which he 
derived his name. 

30. Halidon. An ancient seat of the Kerrs 
of Cessford, now demolished. About a quarter 
of a mile to the northward lay the field of battle 
betwixt Buccleuch and Angus, which is called 
to'this day the Skirmish Field. 

31. Old Metros'. Melrose Abbey. The an- 
cient and beautiful monastery of Melrose was 
founded by King David L Its ruins afford 
the finest specimen of Gothic architecture and 
Gothic sculpture which Scotland can boast. 
The stone of which it is built, though it has 
resisted the weather for so many ages, retains 
perfect sharpness, so that even the most mi- 
nute ornaments seem as entire as when newly 
wrought. 



CANTO SECOND. 

I. St. David' ruined pile. David I. of Scot- 
land purchased the reputation of sanctity by 
founding, and liberally endowing, not only the 
monastery of Melrose, but those of Kelso, Jed- 
burgh, and many others ; which led to the well- 
known observation of his successor, that he was 
a sore saint for the croiun. 

The Buccleuch family were great benefactors 
to the Abbey of Melrose. As early as the reign 
of Robert II., Robert Scott, Baron of Murdie- 
ston and Rankleburn (now Buccleuch), gave to 
the monks the lands of Hinkery, in Ettrick For- 
est, pro salute animce sua, 

10. O gallant chief of Otterburne! The fa- 
mous and desperate battle of Otterburne was 
fought 15th August, 1388, betwixt Henry Percy, 



572 



NOTES. 



called Hotspur, and James, Earl of Douglas. 
Both these renowned champions were at the 
head of a chosen body of troops, and they were 
rivals in military fame. The issue of the con- 
flict is well known : Percy was made prisoner, 
and the Scots won the day, dearly purchased by 
the death of their gallant general, the Earl of 
Douglas, who was slain in the action. He was 
buried at Melrose beneath the high altar. 

lo. Dark Knight of Liddesdalc. William 
Douglas, called the Knight of Liddesdale, 
flourished during the reign of David II., and 
was so distinguished by his valor that he was 
called the Flower of Chivalry. Nevertheless, 
he tarnished his renown by the cruel murder of 
Sir Alexander Ramsay of Dalhousie, originally 
his friend and brother in arms. The King had 
conferred upon Ramsay the sheriffdom of Tevi- 
otdale, to which Douglas pretended some claim. 
In revenge of this ]ireference, the Knight of 
Liddesdale came down upon Ramsay, while he 
was administering justice at Hawick, seized 
and carried him off to his remote and inacces- 
sible castle of Hermitage, where he threw his 
unfortunate prisoner, horse and man, into a 
dungeon, and left him to perish of hunger. It 
is said the miserable captive prolonged' his ex- 
istence for several days by the corn which fell 
from a granary above the vault in which he was 
confined. So weak was the royal authority, 
that David, although highly incensed at this 
atrocious murder, found himself obliged to ap- 
])oint the Knight of Liddesdale successor to his 
victim, as Sheriff of Teviotdale. But he was 
soon after slain, while hunting in Ettrick For- 
est, by his own godson and chieftain, William, 
Earl of Douglas, in revenge, according to some 
authors, of Ramsay's murder ; although a jiop- 
ular tradition, preserved in a ballad quoted by 
Godscroft, and some parts of which are still 
preserved, ascribes the resentment of the Earl 
to jealousy. 

13. Michael Scott. Sir Michael Scott of Bal- 
wearie flourished during the thirteenth century, 
and was one of the ambassadors sent to bring 
the Mjaid of Norway to Scotland upon the death 
of Alexander III. By a poetical anachronism, 
he is here placed in a later era. He was a man 
of much learning, chiefly acquired in foreign 
countries. He wrote a commentary upon Aris- 
totle,' printed at Venice in 1496: and several 
treatises upon natural philosophy, from which 
he. appears to have been addicted to the ab- 
struse studies of judicial astrology, alchemy, 
physiognomy, and chiromancy. Hence he 
passed among his contemporaries for a skil- 
ful magician. Dempster informs us, that he 
remembers to have heard in his youth that the 
magic books of Michael Scott were still in ex- 
istence, but could not be opened, without dan- 
ger, on account of the malignant fiends who 
were thereby invoked. Tradition varies con- 
cerning the place of his burial ; some contend 
tor Holme Coltrame, in Cumberland, others 
for Melrose Abbey. Byt all agree that his 
books of magic were interred in his grave, or 
preserved in the convent where he died. 



13. Salamanca's cave. Spain, from the relics, 
doubtless, of Arabian learning and superstition, 
was accounted a favorite residence of magi- 
cians. Pope Sylvester, who actually imported 
from Spain the use of the Arabian numerals, 
was supposed to have learned there the magic 
for which he was stigmatized by the ignorance 
of his age. There were public schools where 
magic, or rather the sciences supposed to in- 
volve its mysteries, were regularly taught, at 
Toledo, Seville, and Salamanca. In the latter 
city, they were held in a deep cavern ; the 
mouth of which was walled up by Queen Isa- 
bella, wife of King Ferdinand. 

13. The bells would ring in N'otre Dame. 
Michael Scott was chosen, it is said, to go 
upon an embassy, to obtain from the King of 
France satisfaction for certain piracies com- 
mitted by his subjects upon those of Scotland. 
Instead of preparing a new equipage and splen- 
did retinue, the ambassador retreated to his 
study, opened his book and evoked a fiend in 
the shape of a huge black horse, mounted upon 
his back, and forced him to fly through the air 
towards France. As they crossed the sea, the 
devil insidiously asked his rider what it was 
that the old women of Scotland muttered at 
bed-time. A less experienced wizard might 
have answered that it was the Pater Noster, 
which would have licensed the devil to precipi- 
tate him from his back. But Michael sternly 
replied, " What is that to thee ? Mount, Di- 
abolus, and fly!" When he arrived at Paris, 
he tied his horse to the gate of the palace, en- 
tered, and boldly delivered his message. An 
ambassador, with so little of the. pomp and cir- 
cumstance of diplomacy, was not received with 
much respect, and the king was about to return 
a contemptuous refusal to his demand, when 
Michael besought him to suspend his resolu- 
tion till he had seen his horse stamp three 
times. The first stamp shook every steeple in 
Paris, and caused all the bells to ring; the sec- 
ond threw down three of the towers of the pal- 
ace ; and the infernal steed had lifted his hoof 
to give the third stamp, when the king rather 
chose to dismiss Michael, with the most ample 
concessions, than to stand to the probable .con- 
sequences. 

13. J^ildon Hills. Michael Scott was, once 
upon a time, much embarrassed by a spirit, for 
whom he was under the necessity of finding 
constant employment. He commanded him to 
build a caiild, or dam-head, across the Tweetl 
at Kelso; it was accomplished in one night, 
and still does honor to the infernal architect. 
Michael ne.xt ordered that Eildon Hill, which 
was then a uniform cone, should be divided 
into three. Another night was sufficient to part 
its sunmiit into the three picturesque peaks 
which it now bears. At length the enchanter 
conquered this indefatigable demon, by em-, 
ploying him in the hopeless and endless task 
of making ropes out of sea-sand. 

17. That lamp, etc. Baptista Porta, and 
other authors who treat of natural magic, talk 
much of eternal lamps, pretended to have been 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL/ 



57: 



found burning in ancient sepulchres. One of 
these perpetual lamps is said to have been dis- 
covered in the tomb of Tulliola, the daughter 
of Cicero. The wick was supposed to be com- 
posed of asbestos. Kircher enumerates three 
different recipes for constructing such lamps, 
and wisely concludes that the thing is never- 
theless impossible. 

31. The Baron's dwarf. The idea of Lord 
Cranstoun's Goblin Page is taken from a being 
called Gilpin Horner, who appeared, and made 
some stay, at a farmhouse among the Border- 
mountains. An old man, of the name of An- 
derson, who was born, and lived all his life, at 
Todshaw-hill, in Eskedale-muir, said that two 
men, late in the evening, when it was growing 
dark, heard a voice, at some distance, crying, 
" Tint! tint! titit!"'^ One of the men, named 
Moffat, called out, "What deil has tint you.'' 
Come here." Immediately a creature, of some- 
thing like a human form, ap])eared. It was 
surprisingly little, distorted in features, and mis- 
shapen in limbs. As soon as the two men could 
see it plainly, thev ran home in a great fright, 
imagining they had met with some goblin. By 
the way Moffat fell, and it ran over him, and 
was home at the house as soon as either of 
them, and staid there a long time ; but it is not 
stated how long. It was real flesh and blood, 
and ate and drank, was fond of cream, and, 
' when it could get at it, would destroy a great 
deal. It seemed a mischievous creature ; and 
any of the children whom it could master, it 
would beat and scratch without mercy. It was 
once abusing a child belonging to the same 
Moffat, who had been so frightened by its first 
appearance; and he, in a passion, struck it so 
violent a blow upon the side of the head, that 
it tumbled upon the ground ; but it was not 
stunned; for it set up its head directly, and ex- 
claimed, " Ah hah. Will o' Moffat, you strike 
sair ! " (viz., sore.) After it had staid there long, 
one evening, when the women were milking 
the cows in the loan, it was playing among the 
children near by them, when suddenly they 
heard a loud shrill voice cry, three times, " Gil- 
pin- Horner ! " It started, and said, " T//a^ is 
me, I imist away," and' instantly disappeared, 
and was never heard of more. Besides con- 
stantly repeating the word tmt! tint! Gilpin 
Horner was often heard to call upon Peter Ber- 
tram, or Be-te-ram, as he pronounced the word ; 
and when the shrill voice called Gilpin Horner, 
he immediately acknowledged it was the sum- 
mons of the said Peter Bertram, who seems 
therefore to have been the devil who had tint, 
or lost, the little imp. As much as has been 
objected to Gilpin Horner on account of his 
being supposed rather a device of the author 
than a popular superstition, I can only say, that 
no legend which I ever heard seemed to be 
more universally credited, and that many per- 
sons of very good rank and considerable in- 
formation are well known to repose absolute 
faith in the tradition. 



' Tint signifies hsi. 



\ 



CANTO THIRD. 

4. The crane on the Baron's crest. The crest 
of the Cranstouns, in allusion to their name, is 
a crane dormant, holding a stone in his foot, 
with an emphatic Border motto. Thou shalt want 
ere I want. 

8. A /wok-bosomed priest. At Unthank, two 
miles N. E. from the church of Ewes, there 
are the ruins of a chapel for divine service, in 
time of Popery. There is a tradition, that friars 
were wont to come from Melrose, or Jedburgh, 
to baptize and marry in this parish ; and from 
being in use to carry the mass-book in their 
bosoms, they were called, by the inhabitants, 
Book-a-hosoi)ics. 

9. Glamour. Glamour, in the legends of 
Scottish superstition, means the magic power 
of imposing on the eyesight of the spectators, 
so that the appearance of an object shall be 
totally different from the reality. The trans- 
formation of Michael Scott by the witch of 
Faisehope, already mentioned, was a genuine 
operation of glamour. To a similar charm the 
ballad of Johnny Fa' imputes the fascination 
of the lovely Countess, who eloped with that 
gypsy leader : — 

" Sae soon as they saw her weel-far'd face, 
They cast the glamour o'er her." 

13. The 7-unning stream dissolved the spell. It 
is a firm article of popular faith, that no en- 
chantment can subsist in a living stream. Nay, 
if you can interpose a brook betwixt you and 
witches, spectres, or even fiends, you are in per- 
fect safety. Burns's inimitable Tarn 0' Shanter 
turns entirely upon such a circumstance. The 
belief seems to be of antiquity. Brompton in- 
forms us that certain Irish wizards could, by 
spells, convert earthen clods or stones into fat 
pigs, which they sold in the market, but which 
always reassumed their proper form when 
driven by the deceived purchaser across a run- 
ning stream. 

17. He never counted him a man. Imitated 
from Drayton's account of Robin Hood and 
his followers (Polyolbion, Song 26) : — 

"A hundred valiant men^had this brave Robin Hood. 
Still ready at his call, that bowmen were right good : 
All clad in Lincoln green, with caps of red and blue. 
His fellow's winded horn not one of them but knew. 
When setting to their lips their bugles shrill, 
The warbling echoes waked from every dale and hill ; 
Their bauldrics set with studs athwart their shoulders cast. 
To which under their arms their sheafs were buckled fast, 
A short sword at their belt, a buckler scarce a span. 
Who struck below the knee not counted then a man. 
All made of Spanish yew, their bows were wondrous strong, 
They not an arrow drew but was a clothyard long. 
Of archery they had the very perfect craft, 
With broad arrow, or but, or prick, or roving shaft." 

To wound an antagonist in the thigh, or leg, 
was reckoned contrary to the law of arms. 

25. The beacon-blaze of war. The Border bea- 
cons, from their number and position, formed a 
sort of telegraphic communication with Edin- 
burgh. The Act of Parliament, 1455, c. 48, 
directs that one bale, or fagot shall be warning 



574 



NOTES. 



of the approach of the English in any manner ; 
two bales, that they are coming indeed; four 
bales blazing beside each other, that the enemy 
are in great force. 

29. Cairn. The cairns, or piles of loose 
stones, which crown the summit of most of 
our Scottish hills, and are found in other re- 
markable situations, seem usually, though not 
universally, to have been sepulchral monu- 
ments. Six flat stones are commonly found 
in the centre, forming a cavity of greater or 
smaller dimensions,' in which an urn is often 
placed. The author is possessed of one, dis- 
covered beneath an immense cairn at Rough- 
lee, in Liddesdale. It is of the most barbarous 
construction ; the middle of the substance alone 
having been subjected to the fire, over which, 
when hardened, the artist had laid an inner and 
outer coat of unbaked clay, etched with some 
very rude ornaments ; his skill apparently being 
inadequate to baking the vase, when completely 
finished. The contents were bones and ashes, 
and a quantity of beads made of coal. This 
seems to have been a barbarous imitation of 
the Roman fashion of sepulture. 



CANTO FOURTH. 

2. Great Dundee. The Viscount of Dundee, 
slain in the battle of Killiecrankie. 

3. For pathless marsh, etc. The morasses 
were the usual refuge of the Border herdsmen, 
on the approach of an English army. Caves, 
hewed in the most dangerous and inaccessible 
places, also afforded an occasional retreat. 
Such caverns may be seen in the precipitous 
banks of the Teviot at Sunlaws, upon the Ale 
at Ancram, upon the Jed at Hundalee, and in 
many other places upon the Border. The banks 
of the Esk at Gorton and Hawthornden are 
hollowed intt similar recesses. But even these 
dreary dens were not always secure places of 
concealment. 

4. Watt Tinlinn. This person was, in my 
younger days, the theme of many a fireside tale. 
He was a retainer of the Buccleuch family, and 
held for his Border service a small tower on 
the frontiers of Liddesdale. Watt was, by pro- 
fession, 2iSutor, but, by inclination and practice, 
an archer and warrior. Upon one occasion, the 
Captam of Bewcastle, military governor of that 
wild district of Cumberland, is said to have 
made an incursion into Scotland, in which he 
was defeated and forced to fly. Watt Tinlinn 
pursued him closely through a dangerous mo- 
rass ; the captain, however, gained the firm 
ground ; and seeing Tinlinn dismounted, and 
floundering in the bog, used these words ofr 
insult : " Sutor Watt, ye cannot sew your boots ; 
the heels risp [creak], and the seams rive." " If 
I cannot sew," retorted Tinlinn, discharging a 
shaft, which nailed the captain's thigh to his 
saddle, "if I cannot sew, I zzx\. yerk.'' ^ 

I Yerk, to twitch, as slioemakers do in securing the 
stitches of their work. 



5. Of silver brooch and bracelet proud. As 
the Borderers were indifferent about the furni- 
ture of their habitations, so much exposed to 
be burned and plundered, they were propor- 
tionally anxious to display splendor in deco- 
rating and ornamenting their females. 

6. Belted IVill Hozvard. Lord William How- 
ard, third son of Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, suc- 
ceeded to Navi'orth Castle, and a large domain 
annexed to it, in right of his wife Elizabeth, 
sister of George Lord Dacre, who died without 
heirs-male, in the nth of Queen Elizabeth. By 
a poetical anachronism, he is introduced into 
tiie romance a few years earlier than he actually 
flourished. He was warden of the Western 
Marches ; and, from the rigor with which he 
repressed the Border excesses, the name of 
Belted Will Howard is still famous in our tra- 
ditions. 

6. Lord Dacre. The well-known name of 
Dacre is derived from the exploits of one of 
their ancestors at the siege of Acre, or Ptole- 
mais, under Richard Coeur-de-Lion. \ 

6. The German /lackbict-men. In the wars 
with Scotland, Henry VIII. and his successors 
employed numerous bands of mercenary troops. 
At the battle of Pinky, there were in the Eng- 
lish army six hundred hackbutters on foot, and 
two hundred on horseback, composed chiefly 
of foreigners. From the battle-pieces of the 
ancient Flemish painters, we learn, that the 
Low Country and German soldiers marched to 
an assault with their right knees bared. And 
we may also oljserve, in such pictures, the ex- 
travagance to which they carried the fashion of 
ornamenting their dress with knots of ribbon. 

8. Thirlestane. Sir John Scott of Thirlestane 
flourished in the reign of James V., and pos- 
sessed the estates of Thirlestane, Gamescleuch, 
etc., lying upon the river of Ettrick, and extend- 
ing to St. Mary's Loch, at the head of Yarrow. 
It appears that when James had assembled his 
nobility, and their feudal followers, at Fala, 
with the purpose of invading England, and was, 
as is well known, disappointed by the obstinate 
refusal of his peers, this baron alone declared 
himself ready to follow the King wherever he 
should lead. In memory of his fidelity, James 
granted to his family a charter of arms, enti- 
tling them to bear a border of fleurs-de-luce 
similar to the tressure in the royal arms, with 
a bundle of spears for the crest ; motto, Ready, 
aye ready. 

9. An aged knight, etc. The family of Har- 
den are descended from a younger son of the 
Laird of Buccleuch, who flourished before the 
estate of Murdieston was acquired by the mar- 
riage of one of those chieftains with the heiress, 
in 1296. Walter Scott of Harden, who flour- 
ished during the reign of Queen Mary, was a 
renowned Border freebooter. His castle was 
situated upon the very brink of a dark and pre- 
cipitous dell, through which a scanty rivulet 
steals to meet the Borthwick. In the recess of 
this glen he is said to have kept his spoil, which 
served for the daily maintenance of his retain- 
ers, until the production of a pair of clean 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



57S 



spurs, in a covered dish, announced to the 
hungry band that they must ride for a supply 
of provisions. He was married to Mary Scott, 
daughter of Philip Scott of Dryhope, and called 
in song the Hower of Yarrow. He possessed 
a very extensive estate, which was divided 
among his five sons. 

lo. Scotts of Eskdalc, etc. In this and the 
following stanzas, some account is given of the 
mode in which the property in the valley of 
Esk was transferred from the Beattisons, its 
ancient possessors, to the name of Scott. It is 
needless to repeat the circumstances, which are 
given in the poem literally as they have been 
preserved by tradition. Lord Maxwell, in the 
latter part of the sixteenth century, took upon 
himself the title of Earl of Morton. The de- 
scendants of Beattison of Woodkerrick, who 
aided the earl to escape from his disobedient 
vassals, continued to hold these lands within 
the memory of man, and were the only Beatti- 
sons who had property in the dale. The old 
people give locality to the story by showing the 
Galliard's Haugh, the place where Buccleuch's 
men were concealed, etc. 

13. Bellettden is situated near the head of 
Borthwick Water, and being in the centre of the 
possessions of the Scotts, was frequently used as 
their place of rendezvous and gathering word. 

21. A ^^aimtlct on a spear. A glove upon a 
lance was the emblem of faith among the an- 
cient Borderers, who were wont, when any one 
broke his word, to expose this emblem, and 
proclaim him a faithless villain at the first 
Border meeting. This ceremony was much 
dreaded. 

24. March-treason pain. Several species of 
offences, peculiar to the Border, constituted 
what was called march-treason. Among others, 
was the crime of riding, or causing to ride, 
against the opposite country during the time of 
truce. 

26. PVill cleanse him by oath. In dubious 
cases, the innocence of Border criminals was 
occasionally referred to their own oath. The 
form of excusing bills, or indictments, by Bor- 
der-oath, ran thus : " You shall swear by heaven 
above you, hell beneath you, by your part of 
Paradise, by all that God made in six days and 
seven nights, and by God himself, you are 
whart out sackless of art, part, way, witting, 
ridd, kenning, having, or recetting of any of 
the goods and caltels named in this bill. So 
helj) you God." 

26. Knighthood he took, etc. The dignity of 
knighthood, according to the original institution, 
had this peculiarity, that it did not flow from 
the monarch, but could be conferred by one who 
himself possessed it, upon any squire who, after 
due probation, was found to merit the honor of 
chivalry. Latterly, this power was confined to 
generals, who were wont to create knights ban- 
nerets after or before an engagement. Even 
so late as the reign of Queen Elizabeth, Essex 
highly offended his jealous sovereign by the 
indiscrimuiate exertion of this privilege. 

26. Ancram ford. The battle of Ancram 



Moor, or Penielheuch, was fought .\. D. 1545. 
The English, commanded by Sir Ralph Evers, 
and Sir Brian I^atoun, were totally routed, and 
both their leaders slain in the action. The 
Scottish army was commanded by Archibald 
Douglas, Earl of Angus, assisted by the Laird 
of Buccleuch, and Norman Lesley. 

30. The Blanche Lion. This was the cogni- 
zance of the noble house of Howard in all its 
branches. The crest, or bearing, of a warrior 
was often used as a nom de gnerre. Thus 
Richard III. acquired his well-known epithet, 
The Boar of York. In the violent satire on 
Cardinal Wolsey, written by Roy, the Duke of 
Buckingiham is called the Beautiful Swan, and 
the Duke of Norfolk, or Earl of Surrey, the 
White Lion. 

34. The jovial harper. The person here al- 
luded to, is one of our ancient Border min- 
strels, called Rattling Roaring Willie. This 
sobriquet was probably derived from his bully- 
ing disposition ; being, it would seem, such 
a roaring boy as is frequently mentioned in 
old pla}s. While drinking at Newmill, upon 
Teviot, about five miles above Hawick, Willie 
chanced to quarrel with one of his own profes- 
sion, who was usually distinguished by the odd 
name of Sweet Milk, from a place on Rule 
Water so called. They retired to a meadow 
on the opposite side of the Teviot, to decide 
the contest with their swords, and Sweet Milk 
was killed on the spot. A thorn-tree marks 
the scene of the murder, which is still called 
Sweet Milk Thorn. Willie was taken and exe- 
cuted at Jedburgh, bequeathing his name to the 
beautiful Scotch air, called "Rattling Roaring 
Willie." 

34. Black Lord Archibald's battle-laws. The 
most ancient collection of Border regulations. 



CANTO FIFTH. 

4. The Bloody Heart, etc. The chief of this 
potent race of heroes, about the date of the 
poem, was Archibald Douglas, seventh Earl of 
Angus, a man of great courage and activity. 
The Bloody Heart was the well-known cogni- 
zance of the House of Douglas, assumed from 
the time of good Lord James, to whose care 
Robert Bruce committed his heart, to be car- 
ried to the Holy Land. 

4. The Seven Spears, etc. Sir David Home, 
of Wedderburn, who was slain in the fatal 
battle of Flodden, left seven sons by his wife 
Isabel. They were called the Seven Spears 
of Wedderburn. 

4. Clarence's Plantagcnet. At the battle of 
Beauge, in France. Thomas, Duke of Clarence, 
brother to Henry V., was unhorsed by Sir John 
Svvinton of Swinton, who distinguished him by 
a coronet set with precious stones, which he 
wore around his helmet. The family of Swin- 
ton is one of the most ancient in Scotland, and 
produced many celebrated warriors. 



576 



NOTES. 



4. Beneath the crest, etc. The Earls of Home, 
as descendants of the Dunbars, ancient Earls of 
March, carried a lion rampant, argent; but, as 
a difference, changed the color of the shield 
from gules to vert, in allusion to Greenlaw, 
their ancient possession. The slogan, or war- 
cry, of thii powerful family, was, " A Home ! a 
Home ! " It was anciently placed in an escrol 
above the crest. The helmet is armed with a 
lion's head erased gules, with a cap of state 
gules, turned up ermine. The Heplninis, a 
powerful family in East Lothian, were usually 
in close alliance with the Homes. The chief of 
this clan was Hepburn, Lord of Hailes, a family 
which terminated in the too famous Earl of 
Bothwell. 

6. The football play. The football was an- 
ciently a very favorite sport all through Scot- 
land, but especially upon the Borders. Sir 
John Carmichael of Carmichael, Warden of 
the Middle Marches, was killed in 1600 by a 
band of the Armstrongs, returning from a foot- 
ball match. Sir Robert Carey, in his Memoirs, 
mentions a great meeting, appointed by the 
Scotch riders to be held at Kelso for the pur- 
pose of playing at football, but which terminated 
in an incursion upon England. 

7. 'Twtxt truce and war, &X.C. Notwithstand- 
ing the constant wars upon the Borders, and 
the occasional cruelties which marked the mu- 
tual inroads, the inhabitants on either side do 
not appear to have regarded each other with 
that violent and personal animosity, which 
might have been expected. On the contrary, 
like the outposts of hostile armies, they often 
carried on something resembling friendly inter- 
course, even in the middle of hostilities ; and 
it is evident, from various ordinances against 
trade and intermarriages, between English and 
Scottish Borderers, that the governments of 
both countries were jealous of their cherishing 
too intimate a connexion. 

In the 29th stanza of this canto, there is an 
attempt to express some of the mixed feelings 
with which the Borderers on each side were led 
to regard their neighbors. 

29. Cheer the dark bloodhound, etc The pur- 
suit of Border marauders was followed by the 
injured party and his friends with bloodhounds 
and bugle-horn, and was called the hot-trod. He 
was entitled, if his dog could trace the scent, to 
follow the invaders into the opposite kingdom ; 
a privilege which often occasioned bloodshed. 
The breed was kept up by the Buccleuch family 
on their Border estates till within the eighteenth 
century. 



CANTO SIXTH. 

5. She 7vr ought not, &ic. Popular belief, though 
contrary to the doctrines of the Church, made a 
favorable distinction betwixt magicians and ne- 
cromancers, or wizards ; the former were sup- 
posed to command the evil spirits, and the latter 



to serve, or at least to be in league and compact 
with, those enemies of mankind. The arts of 
subjecting the demons were manifold ; some- 
times the fiends were actually swindled by the 
magicians. 

5. A merlin. A merlin, or sparrow-hawk, was 
actually carried by ladies of rank, as a falcon 
was, in time of peace, the constant attendant of 
a knight or baron. Godscroft relates, that when 
Mary of Lorraine was regent, she pressed the 
Earl of Angus to admit a royal garrison into 
his Castle of Tantallon. To this he returned 
no direct answer ; but, as if apostrophizing a 
goshawk, which sat on his wrist, and which he 
was feeding during the Queen's speech, he ex- 
claimed, " The devil 's in this greedy glede, she 
will never be full." Barclay complains of the 
common and indecent practice of bringing 
hawks and hounds into churches. 

6. Peacock's gilded train. The peacock, it is 
well known, was considered, during the times 
of chivalry, not merely as an exquisite delicacy 
but as a dish of peculiar solemnity. After being 
roasted, it was again decorated with its plu- 
mage, and a sponge, dipped in lighted spirits of 
wine, was placed in its bill. When it was in- 
troduced on days of grand festival, it was the 
signal for the adventurous knights to take upon 
them vows to do some deed of chivalry, " before 
the peacock and the ladies." 

The boar's head was also a usual dish of feu- 
dal splendor. In Scotland it was sometimes 
surrounded with little banners, displaying the 
colors and achievements of the baron at whose 
board it was served. 

6. From St. Mary's wave. There are often 
flights of swans upon St. Mary's Lake, at the 
head of the river Yarrow. 

7. Stout Hunthill. The Rutherfords of Hunt- 
hill were an ancient race of Border Lairds, 
whose names occur in history, sometimes as 
defending the frontier against the English, 
sometimes as disturbing the peace of their own 
country. Dickon Draw-the-sword was son to 
the ancient warrior, called in tradition the Cock 
of Hunthill, remarkable for leading into battle 
nine sons, gallant warriors, all sons of the aged 
champion. 

7. Bit his glove. To bite the thumb, or the 
glove, seems not to have been considered, upon 
the Border, as a gesture of contempt, though so 
used by Shakespeare, but as a pledge of mortal 
revenge. It is yet remembered that a young 
gentleman of Teviotdale, on the morning after 
a hard drinking-bout, observed that he had bit- 
ten his glove. He instantly demanded of his 
companion, with whom he had quarrelled.'' 
And, learning that he had had words with 
one of the party, insisted on instant satisfac- 
tion, asserting that though he remembered 
nothing of the dispute, yet he was sure he 
never would have bit his glove unless he had 
received some unpardonable Insult. He fell 
in the duel, which was fought near Selkirk, in 
1721. 

8. Arthur Ftre-the-Braes. The person bear- 
ing this redoubtable nom de guerre was an Elliot, 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



577 



and resided at Thoileshope, in Liddesdale. He 
occurs in the list of Border riders, in 1597. 

8. Since old Buccleuc/i; etc. A tradition pre- 
served by Scott of Satchells gives the following 
romantic origin of that name. Two brethren, 
natives of Galloway, having been banished 
from that country for a riot, or insurrection, 
came to Rankleburn, in Ettrick Forest, where 
the keeper, whose name was Brydone, received 
them jo\'fully, on account of their skill in wind- 
ing the horn, and in the other mysteries of the 
chase. Kenneth MacAlpin, then King of Scot- 
land, came soon after to hunt in the royal forest, 
and pursued a buck from Ettrickheuch to the 
glen now called Buckcleuch, about two miles 
above the junction of Rankleburn with the 
river Ettrick. Here the stag stood at bay ; and 
the king and his attendants, who followed on 
horseback, were thrown out by the steepness of 
the hill and the morass. John, one of the breth- 
ren from Galloway, had followed the chase on 
foot ; and now coming in, seized the buck by 
the horns, and, being a man of great strength 
and activity, threw him on his back, and ran 
with his burden about a mile up the steep hill, 
to a place called Cracra-Cross, where Kenneth 
had halted, and laid the buck at the sovereign's 
feet. 

10. Albert Graine. John Grahame, second 
son of Malice, Earl of Monteith, commonly sur- 
named John ivith the Bright Swoni, upon some 
displeasure risen against him at court, retired 
with many of his clan and kindred into the 
English Borders, in the reign of King Henry 
the Fourth, where they seated themselves : 
and many of their posterity have continued 
there ever since. Mr. .Sandford, speaking of 
them, says (which indeed was applicable to 
most of the Borderers on both sides) : "They 
were all stark moss-troopers, and arrant thieves : 
Both to England and Scotland outlawed ; yet 
sometimes connived at, because they gave intel- 
ligence forth of Scotland, and would raise 400 
horse at any time upon a raid of the English 
into Scotland. A saying is recorded of a mother 
to her son, (which is now become proverbial,) 
Ride, Rowley, hottgh^ z' the pot : that is, the 
last piece of beef was in the pot, and therefore 
it was high time for him to go and fetch more " 
{History of Cumberland, introd.). 

13. The gentle Surrey. The gallant and un- 
fortunate Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, was 
unquestionably the most accomplished cavalier 
of his time ; and his sonnets display beauties 
which would do honor to a more polished age. 
He was beheaded on Tower- hill in 1 546; a victim 
to the mean jealousy of Henry VHI., who could 
not bear so brilliant a character near his throne. 

The song of the supposed bard is founded on 
an incident said to have happened to the Earl 
in his travels. Cornelius Agrippa, the cele- 
brated alchemist, showed him, in a looking- 
glass, the lovely Geraldine, to whose service 
he had devoted his pen and his sword. The 
vision represented her as indisposed, and re- 
clining upon a couch, reading her lover's verses 
by the light of a waxen taper. 



22. That Sea-Snake, etc. The Jormungandr, 
or Snake of the Ocean, whose folds surround 
the earth, is one of the wildest fictions of the 
Edda. It was very nearly caught by the god 
Thor, who went to fish for it with a hook baited 
with a bull's head. In the battle betwixt the 
evil demons and the divinities of Odin, which is 
to precede the Ragnarockr, or Twilight of the 
Gods, this Snake is to act a conspicuous part. 

22. Those dread Maids. These were the Val- 
kyriur, or Selectors of the Slain, despatched by 
Odin from Valhalla, to choose those who were 
to die, and to distribute the contest. They are 
well known to the English reader as Gray's 
Fatal Sisters. 

22. Of Chiefs, etc. The Northern warriors 
were usually entombed with their arms and their 
other treasures. Thus Angantyr, before com- 
mencing the duel in which he was slain, stipu- 
lated that if he fell, his sword Tyrfing should 
be buried with him. His daughter, Hervor, 
afterwards took it from his tomb. The dia- 
logue which passed betwixt her and Angantyr's 
spirit on this occasion has been often translated. 
The whole history may be found in the Herva- 
rar-Saga. Indeed, the ghosts of the Northern 
warriors were not wont tamely to suffer their 
tombs to be plundered; and hence the mortal 
heroes had an additional temptation to attempt 
such adventures ; for they held nothing more 
worthy of their valor than to encounter super- 
natural beings. 

26. Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man. 
The ancient castle of Peel-town in the Isle of 
Man is surrounded by four churches, now ruin- 
ous. They say that an apparition, called, in 
the Mankish language, the Manthe Doog, in the 
shape of a large black spaniel, with curled 
shaggy hair, was used to haunt Peel-castle ; 
and has been frequently seen in every room, 
but particularly in the guard-chamber, where, 
as soon as candles were lighted, it came and 
lay down before the fire, in presence of all 
the soldiers, who, at length, by being so much 
accustomed to the sight of it, lost great part 
of the terror they were seized with at its first 
appearance. But though they endured the shock 
of such a guest when all together in a body, 
none cared to be left alone with it. It being the 
custom, therefore, for one of the soldiers to lock 
the gates of the castle at a certain hour, and 
carry the keys to the captain, to whose apart- 
ment, as I said before, the way led through the 
church, they agreed among themselves, that 
whoever was to succeed the ensuing night his 
fellow in this errand, should acconq^any him 
that went first, and by this means no man would 
be exposed singly to the danger. One night a 
fellow, being drunk, laughed at the simplicity of 
his companions ; and though it was not his 
turn to go with the keys, would needs take that 
office upon him, to testify his courage. All the 
soldiers endeavored to dissuade him; but the 
more they said, the more resolute he seemed, 
and swore that he desired nothing more than 
that the Mauthe Doog would follow him as it 
had done the others ; for he would try if it were 



37 



578 



NOTES. 



dog or devil. After having talked in a very 
reprobate manner for some time, he snatched 
up the keys, and went out of the guard-room. 
In some time after his departure, a great noise 
was heard, but nobody had the boldness to see 
what occasioned it, till, the adventurer return- 
ing, they demanded the knowledge of him ; but as 
loud and noisy as he had been at leaving them, 
he was now become sober and silent enough ; 
for he was never heard to speak more ; and 
though all the time he lived, which was three 
days, he was entreated by all who came near 
him, either to speak, or, if he could not do that, 
to make some signs, by which they might under- 
stand what had happened to him, yet nothing 
intelligible could be got from him, only that, 
by the distortion of his limbs and features, it 



might be guessed that he died in agonies more 
than is common in a natural death. 

27. Saint Bride of Dotiglas. This was a favor- 
ite saint of the house of Douglas, and of the Earl 
of Angus in particular, as we learn from Gods- 
croft, who says : " The Queen-Regent had pro- 
posed to raise a rival noble to the ducal dignity ; 
and discoursing of her purpose with Angus, he 
answered, ' Why not, madam .'' we are happy 
that have such a princess, that can know and 
will acknowledge men's services, and is will- 
ing to recompense it ; but, by the might of 
God ' (this was his oath when he was serious 
and in anger ; at other times, it was by St. 
Bryde of Douglas), 'if he be a Duke, I will be 
a Drake ! ' So she desisted from prosecuting of 
that purpose." 



jHarmioiu 



Scott began Marmion in November, 1806, 
while he was engaged upon his edition of Dry- 
den. It was published on the 23d of February, 
180S, "in a splendid quarto, price one guinea 
and a half" (about $7.50 in Federal money), 
and the first edition of two thousand copies 
was exhausted in less than a month. 

The poem was prefaced by the following 
" Advertisement ; " — 

" It is hardly to be expected that an author 
whom the public have honored with some de- 
gree of applause should not be again a tres- 
passer on their kindness. Yet the author of 
Marmion must be supposed to feel some anxi- 
ety concerning its success, since he is sensible 
that he hazards, by this second intrusion, any 
reputation which his first poem may have pro- 
cured him. The present story turns upon the 
private adventures of a fictitious character, but 
is called a Tale of Flodden Field, because the 
hero's fate is connected with that memorable 
defeat and the causes which led to it. The de- 
sign of the author was, if possible, to apprise 
his readers, at the outset, of the date of his 
story, and to prepare them for the manners of 
the age in which it is laid. Any historical nar- 
rative, far more an attempt at epic composition, 
exceeded his plan of a romantic tale; yet he 
may be permitted to hope, from the popularity 
of l^he Lay of the Last Minstrel, that an attempt 
to paint tiie manners of the feudal times, upon 
a broader scale, and in the course of a more in- 
teresting story, will not be unacceptabFe to the 
public. 

"The poem opens about the commencement 
of August, and concludes with the defeat of 
Flodden, 9th September, 1513. 

"ASHESTIEL, 1808." 

The edition of 1830 contained the following 
" Introduction : " — 

"What I have to say respecting this poem 
may be briefly told. In the Introduction to the 



Lay of the Last Minstrel I have mentioned the 
circumstances, so far as my literary life is con- 
cerned, which induced me to resign the active 
pursuit of an honorable profession for the more 
precarious resources of literature. My appoint- 
ment to the Sheriffdom of Selkirk called for a 
change of residence. I left, therefore, the pleas- 
ant cottage I had upon the side of the Esk, for 
the ' pleasanter banks of the Tweed,' in order 
to comply with the law, which requires that the 
sheriff shall be resident, at least during a cer- 
tain number of months, within his jurisdiction. 
We found a delightful retirement, by my be- 
coming the tenant of my intimate friend and 
cousin-german. Colonel Russel, in his mansion 
of Ashestiel, which was unoccupied during his 
absence on military service in India. The 
house was adequate to our accommodation and 
the exercise of a limited hospitality. The situ- 
ation is uncommonly beautiful, by the side of a 
fine river whose streams are there very favor- 
able for angling, surrounded by the remains of 
natural woods, and by hills abounding in game. 
In point of society, according to the heartfelt 
phrase of Scripture, we dwelt 'amongst our 
own people ; ' and as the distance from the 
metropolis was only thirty miles, we were not 
out of reach of our Edinburgh friends, in which 
city we spent the terms of the summer and 
winter sessions of the court, that is, five or six 
months in the year. 

"An important circumstance had, about the 
same time, taken place in my life. Hopes had 
been held out to me from an influential quar- 
ter, of a nature to relieve me from the anxiety 
which I must have otherwise felt, as one upon 
the precarious tenure of whose own life rested 
the principal prospects of his family, and espe- 
cially as one who had necessarily some depend- 
ence upon the favor of the public, which is 
proverbially capricious; though it is but justice 
to add that in my own case I have not found 
it so. Mr. Pitt had expressed a wish to my 



MARMION. 



579 



])ei"soaal friend, the Right Honorable William 
Dundas, now Lord Clerk Register of Scotland, 
that some fitting opportunity should be taken 
to be of service to me ; and as my views and 
wishes pointed to a future rather than an im- 
mediate provision, an opportunity of accom- 
plishing this was soon found. One of the 
Principal Clerks of Session, as they are called 
(official persons who occupy an important and 
responsible situation, and enjoy a considerable 
income), who had served upwards of thirty 
years, felt himself, from age and the infirmity 
of deafness with which it was accompanied, de- 
sirous of retiring from his official situation. As 
the law then stood, such official persons were 
entitled to bargain with their successors, either 
for a sum of money, which was usually a con- 
siderable one, or for an interest in the emol- 
uments of the office during their life. My 
l^redecessor, whose services had been unusu- 
ally meritorious, stipulated for the emoluments 
of his office during his life, while T should en- 
joy the survivorship on the condition that I 
discharged the duties of the office in the mean 
time. Mr. Pitt, however, having died in the 
interval, his administration was dissolved, and 
was succeeded by that known by the name of 
the Fox and Grenville Ministry. My affair was 
so far completed that my commission lay in 
the office subscribed by his Majesty; but, from 
hurry or mistake, the interest of my predeces- 
sor was not expressed in it, as had been usual 
in such cases. Although, therefore, it only 
required payment of the fees, I could not in 
honor take out the commission in the present 
state, since, in the event of my dying before 
him, the gentleman whom I succeeded must 
have lost the vested interest which he had stip- 
ulated to retain. I had the honor of an inter- 
view with Earl Spencer on the subject, and he, 
in the most handsome manner, gave directions 
that the commission should issue as originally 
intended ; adding, that the matter having re- 
ceived the royal assent, he regarded only as a 
claim of justice what he would have willingly 
done as an act of favor. I never saw Mr. Fox 
on this or on any other occasion, and never 
made any application to him, conceiving that 
in doing so I might have been supposed to ex- 
press political opinions contrary to those which 
I had always? professed. In his private capac- 
ity, there is no man to whom I would have been 
more proud to owe an obligation, had I been so 
distinguished. 

" By this arrangement T obtained the survivor- 
ship of an office the emoluments of which were 
fully adequate to my wishes ; and as the law 
respecting the mode of providing for superan- 
nuated officers was, about five or six years after, 
altered from that which admitted the arrange- 
ment of assistant and successor, my colleague 
very handsomely took the opportunity of the 
alteration to accept of the retiring annuity pro- 
vided in such cases, and admitted me to the 
full benefit of the office. 

" But although the certainty of succeeding to 
a considerable income, at the time I obtained it, 



seemed to assure me of a quiet harbor in my 
old age, I did not escape my share of inconve- 
nience from the contrary tides and currents by 
which we are so often encountered in our jour- 
ney through life. Indeed, the publication of 
my next poetical attempt was iwematurely 
accelerated, from one of those unpleasant 
accidents which can neither be foreseen nor 
avoided. 

" I had formed the prudent resolution to en- 
deavor to bestow a little more labor than I had 
yet done on my productions, and to be in no 
hurry again to announce myself as a candidate 
for literary fame. Accordingly, particular pas- 
sages of a poem which was finally called Mar- 
mion were labored with a good deal of care by 
one by whom much care was seldom bestowed. 
Whether the work was worth the labor or not, 
I am no competent judge; but I maybe per- 
mitted to say that the period of its composition 
was a very happy one in my life; so much so, 
that I remember with pleasure, at this moment, 
some of the spots in which particular passages 
were composed. It is probably owing to this 
that the Introductions to the several cantos as- 
sumed the form of familiar epistles to my inti- 
mate friends, in which I alluded, perhaps more 
than was necessary or graceful, to my domestic 
occupations and amusements, — a loquacity 
which may be excused by those who remember 
that I was still young, light-headed, and happy, 
and that ' out of the abundance of the heart the 
mouth speaketh.' 

" The misfortunes of a near relation and friend, 
which happened at this time, led me to alter my 
prudent determination, which had been to use 
great precaution in sending this poem into the 
world ; and made it convenient at least, if not 
absolutely necessary, to hasten its publication. 
The publishers of The Lay of the Last Minstrel, 
emboldened by the success of that poem, wil- 
lingly offered a thousand pounds for Marmion. 
The transaction, being no secret, afforded Lord 
Byron, who was then at general war with all 
who blacked paper, an apology for including 
me in his satire entitled English Bards and 
Scotch Reviezversy I never could conceive how 
an arrangement between an author and his 
publishers, if satisfactory to the persons con- 
cerned, could afford matter of censure to any 
third ])arty. I had taken no unusual or ungen- 
erous means of enhancing the value of my 

' Lockhart quotes the passage, which is as follows : 

" Next view in state, proud prancing^ on his roan. 
The goUien-crested haughty Marm-on, 
Now forj^ingf scrolls, now foremost in the fight, 
Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight. 
The gibbet or the field prepared to grace ; 
A mighty mixture of the great and base. 
And think'st thou, Scott ! by vain conceit perchance. 
On public laste to foist thy stale romance. 
Though Murray with h"s Miller may combine 
To yield thy muse just half a crown per line? 
No ! when the sons of song descend to trade. 
Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. 
Let such forego the poet's sacred name. 
Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame ; 
Still for stern Mammon may they toil in vain ! 
And sadly gaze on gold they cannot gain ! 
Such be their meed, such still the just reward 
of prostituted muse and hireling bard ! 
Hor this we spurn Apollo's venal son. 
And bid a long 'Good-night to Marmion.'" 



58o 



NOTES. 



merchandise, — I had never higgled a moment 
about the bargain, but accepted at once what I 
considered the handsome offer of my publish- 
ers. These gentlemen, at least, were not of 
opinion that they had been taken advantage 
of in the transaction, which indeed was one of 
their own framing; on the contrary, the sale of 
the poem was so far beyond their expectation 
as to induce them to supply the author's cellars 
with what is always an acceptable present to a 
young Scottish housekeeper, namely, a hogs- 
head of excellent claret. 

" The poem was finished in too much haste 
to allow me an opportunity of softening down, 
if not removing, some of its most prominent de- 
fects. The nature of Marmion's guilt, although 
similar instances were found, and might be 
quoted, as existing in feudal times, was never- 
theless not sufficiently peculiar to be indicative 
of the character of the period, forgery being the 
crime of a commercial rather than a proud and 
warlike age. This gross defect ought to have 
been remedied or palliated. Yet I suffered the 
tree to lie as it had fallen. I remember my 
friend, Dr. Leyden, then in the East, wrote me 
a furious remonstrance on the subject. I have, 
nevertheless, always been of opinion that cor- 
rections, however in themselves judicious, have 
a bad effect — after publication. An author is 
never so decidedly condemned as on his own 
confession, and may long find apologists and 
partisans until he gives up his own cause. I 
was not, therefore, inclined to afford matter for 
censure out of my own admissions; and, by 
good fortune, the novelty of the subject and, if 
I may say so, some force and vivacity of de- 
scription, were allowed to atone for many im- 
perfections. Thus the second experiment on 
the public patience, generally the most peril- 
ous, — for the public are then most apt to judge 
with rigor what in the first instance they had 
received perhaps with imprudent generosity, — 
was in my case decidedly successful. I had the 
good foi'tune to pass this ordeal favorably, and 
the return of sales before me makes the copies 
amount to thirty-six thousand printed between 
1808 and 1S25, besides a considerable sale since 
that period. 1 shall here pause upon the sub- 
ject of Martnion, and, in a few prefatory words 
to The Lady of the Lake, the last poem of mine 
which obtained eminent success, I will continue 
the task which I have imposed on myself re- 
specting the origin of my productions. 

" Abbotsford, yiZ/r//, 1S30." 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 

The Chafnpion of the Lake. Lancelot du Lac, 
one of the most famous of Arthur's knights. 
Scott has the following note here • — 

"The Romance of the Morte d'Arthitr con- 
tains a sort of abridgment of the most celebrated 
adventures of the Round Table ; and, being 
written in comparatively modern language, 
gives the general reader an excellent idea of 



what romances of chivalry actually were. It 
has also the merit of being written in pure old 
English; and many of the wild adventures 
which it contains are told with a simplicity 
bordering upon the sublime. Several of these 
are referred to in the text ; . . . but I con- 
fine myself to the tale of the Chapel Perilous, 
and of the quest of Sir Launcelot after the 
.Sangreal : 

" ' Right so Sir Launcelot departed, and when 
he came to the Chapell Perilous, he alighted 
downe, and tied his horse to a little gate. And 
as soon as he was within the churchyard, he 
saw, on the front of the chapell, many faire 
rich shields turned upside downe ; and many 
of the shields Sir Launcelot had scene knights 
have before ; with that he saw stand by him 
thirtie great knights, more, by a yard, than any 
man that ever he had seene, and all those 
grinned and gnashed at Sir Launcelot; and 
when he saw their countenance, hee dread 
them sore, and so put his shield afore him, and 
tooke his sword in his hand, ready to doe bat- 
taile ; and they were all armed in black harneis, 
ready, with their shields and swords drawen. 
And when Sir Launcelot would have gone 
through them, they scattered on every side of 
him, and gave him the way; and therewith he 
waxed all bold, and entered into the chapell, 
and then hee saw no light but a dimme lampe 
burning, and then was he ware of a corps cov- 
ered with a cloath of silke ; then Sir Launcelot 
stooped downe, and cut a piece of that cloath 
away, and then it fared under him as the earth 
had quaked a little, whereof he was afeard, and 
then hee saw a faire sword lye by the dead 
knight, and that he gat in his hand, and hied 
him out of the chappell. As soon as he was in 
the chappell-yerd, all the knights spoke to him 
with a grimly voice, and said, " Knight, Sir 
Launcelot, lay that sword from thee, or else 
thou shalt die." — " Whether I live or die," said 
Sir Launcelot, "with no great words get yee 
it againe, therefore fight for it and yee list." 
Therewith he passed through them ; and, be- 
yond the chappell-yerd, there met him a faire 
damosell, and said, " Sir Launcelot, leave that 
sword behind thee, or thou wilt die for it." — 
"I will not leave it," said Sir Launcelot, "for 
no threats." — " No .'" said she; "and ye did 
leave that sword, Queene Guenever should ye 
never see." — " Then were I afoole and I would 
leave this sword," said Sir Launcelot. — " Now, 
gentle knight," said the damosell, " I require 
thee to kisse me once." — "Nay," said Sir 
Launcelot, " that God forbid ! " — " Well, sir," 
said she, " and thou haddest kissed me thy life 
dayes had been done ; but now, alas ! " said she, 
" I have lost all my labour ; for I ordeined this 
chappell for thy sake, and for Sir Gawaine : and 
once I had Sir Gawaine within it ; and at that 
time he fought with that knight which there 
lieth dead in yonder chappell. Sir Gilbert the 
bastard, and at that time hee smote off Sir Gil- 
bert the bastard's left hand. And so. Sir Laun- 
celot, now I tell thee, that I have loved thee 
this seaven yeare ; but there may no woman 



MARMION. 



581 



have thy love but Queene Guenever ; but sithen 
I may not rejoyce thee to have thy body alive, 
I had kept no more joy in this world but to 
have had thy dead body ; and I would have 
balmed it and served, and so have kept it in my 
life daies, and daily I should have clipped thee, 
and kissed thee, in the despite of Queene Gue- 
never." — " Yea say well," said Sir Launcelot ; 
"Jesus preserve me from your subtill craft." 
And therewith he took his horse and departed 
from her.' " 

A sinful man, etc. One day, when Arthur 
was holding a high feast with his Knights of 
the Round Table, the Sangreal, or vessel out of 
which the last passover was eaten, a precious 
relic, which had long remained concealed from 
human eyes, because of the sins of the land, 
suddenly appeared to him and all his chivalry. 
The consequence of this vision was, that all the 
knights took on them a solemn vow to seek the 
Sangreal. But, alas! it could only be revealed 
to a knight at once accomplished in earthly 
chivalry, and pure and guiltless of evil conver- 
sation. All Sir Launcelot's noble accomplish- 
ments were therefore rendered vain by his 
guilty intrigue with Queen Guenever, or Ga- 
nore ; and in this holv quest he encountered 
only such disgraceful disasters as that which 
follows : 

" But Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and end- 
long in a wild forest, and held no path, but as 
wild adventure led him ; and at the last, he 
came unto a stone crosse, which departed two 
wayes, in wast land ; and, by the crosse, was a 
ston that was of marble ; but it was so darke, 
that Sir Launcelot might not well know what it 
was. Then Sir Launcelot looked by him, and 
saw an old chappell, and there he wend to have 
found people. And so Sir Launcelot tied his 
horse to a tree, and there hee put off his shield, 
and hung it upon a tree, and then hee went 
unto the chappell doore, and found it wasted 
and broken. And within he found a faire alter 
full richly arrayed with cloth of silk, and there 
stood a faire candlestick, which beare six great 
candels, and the candlesticke was of silver. 
And when Sir Launcelot saw this light, hee had 
a great will for to enter into the chappell, but 
hee could find no place where hee might enter. 
Then was he passing heavie and dismaied. 
Then hee returned, and came again to his 
horse, and tooke off his saddle and his bridle, 
and let him pasture, and unlaced his helme, 
and ungirded his sword, and laide him downe 
to sleepe upon his shield before the crosse. 

" And so hee fell on sleepe, and halfe waking 
and halfe sleeping, hee saw come by him two 
pal f ryes, both faire and white, the which beare 
a litter, therein lying a sicke knight. And 
when he was nigh the crosse, he there abode 
still. All this Sir Launcelot saw and beheld, 
for hee slept not verily, and hee heard him say, 
' Oh sweete Lord, when shall this sorrow leave 
me, and when shall the holy vessel come by me, 
where through I shall be blessed, for I have 
endured thus long, for little trespasse.' And 
thus a great while complained the knight, and 



allwaies Sir Launcelot heard it. With that Sir 
Launcelot saw the candlesticke, with the six 
tapers come before the crosse ; but he could 
see no body that brought it. Also there came 
a table of silver, and the holy vessell of the 
Sancgreall, the which Sir Launcelot had scene 
before that time in King Petchour's house. 
And therewithall the sicke knight set him up- 
right, and held u]) both his hands, and said, 
' Faire sweete Lord, which is here within the 
holy vessell, take heede to mee, that I may bee 
hole of this great malady.' And therewith 
upon his hands, and upon his knees, he went 
so nigh, that he touched the holy vessell, and 
kissed it : And anon he was hole, and then he 
said, ' Lord God, I thank thee, for I am healed 
of this malady.' Soo when the holy vessell 
had been there a great while, it went unto the 
chappell againe with the candlesticke and the 
light, so that .Sir Launcelot wist not where it 
became, for he was overtaken with sinne, that 
hee had no power to arise against the holy ves- 
sell, wherefore afterward many men said of him 
shame. But he tooke repentance afterward. 
Then the sicke knight dressed him upright, 
and kissed the crosse. Then anon his squire 
brought him his armes, and asked his lord how 
he did. ' Certainely,' said hee, ' I thanke God 
right heartily, for through the holy vessell I am 
healed. But I have right great mervaile of this 
sleeping knight, which hath had neither grace 
nor power to awake during the time that this 
holy vessell hath beene here present.' ' I dare 
it right well say,' said the squire, 'that this 
same knight is defouled with some manner of 
deadly sinne, whereof he was never confessed.' 
' By my faith,' said the knight, ' whatsoever he 
be, he is unhappie ; for as I deeme hee is of 
the fellowship of the Round Table, the which 
is entred into the quest of the Sancgreall.' 
' Sir,' said the squire, ' here I have brought 
you all your armes, save your helme and your 
sword, and therefore, by mine assent, now may 
ye take this knight's helme and his sword,' and 
so he did. And when he was cleane armed, he 
tooke Sir Launcelot's horse, for he was better 
than his owne, and so they departed from the 
crosse. 

"Then anon Sir Launcelot awaked, and set 
himselfe upright, and hee thought him what hee 
had there scene, and whether it were dreames 
or not, right so he heard a voice that said ' Sir 
Launcelot, more harder then is the stone, and 
more bitter then is the wood, and more naked 
and bare then is the liefe of the fig-tree, there- 
fore go thou from hence, and withdraw thee 
from this holy place ; ' and when Sir Launcelot 
heard this, hee was passing heavy, and wist not 
what to doe. And so he departed sore weep- 
ing, and cursed the time that he was borne; 
for then hee deemed never to have had more 
worship ; for the words went unto his heart, 
till that he knew wherefore that hee was so 
called." 

And Dryden in immortal strain. Dryden's 
melancholy account of his projected Epic Poem, 
blasted by the selfish and sordid parsimony of 



582 



NOTES. 



his patrons, is contained in an Essay on Satire, 
addressed to the Earl of Dorset, and prefaced 
to the Translation of Juvenal. After .nentioning 
a plan of supplying machinery from the guard- 
ian angels of kingdoms, mentioned in the Book 
of Daniel, he adds : ' Thus, my Lord, I have, 
as briefly as I could, given your lordship, and 
by you the world, a rude draft of what I have 
been long laboring in my imagination, and what 
I had intended to have put in practice (though 
far unable for the attempt of such a poem) ; 
and to have left the stage, to which my genius 
never much inclined me, for a work which 
would have taken up my life in the perform- 
ance of it. This, too, I had intended chiefly for 
the honor of my native country, to which a poet 
is particularly obliged. Of two subjects, both 
relating to it, I was doubtful whether I should 
choose that of King Arthur conquering the 
Saxons, which, being further distant in time, 
gives the greater scope to my invention; or 
that of Edward the Black Prince, in subduing 
Spain, and restoring it to the lawful prince, 
though a great tyrant, Don Pedro the Cruel ; 
which, for the compass of time, including only 
the expedition of one year, for the greatness of 
the action, and its answerable event, for the 
magnanimity of the English hero, opposed to 
the ingratitude of the person whom he restored, 
and for the many beautiful episodes which I 
had interwoven with the principal design, to- 
gether with the characters of the chiefest Eng- 
lish persons (wherein, after Virgil and Spenser, 
I would have taken occasion to represent my 
living friends and patrons of the noblest fami- 
lies, and also shadowed the events of future 
ages in the succession of our imperial line), — 
with these helps, and those of the machines 
which I have mentioned, I might perhaps have 
done as well as some of my predecessors, or at 
least chalked out a way for others to amend 
my errors in a like design ; but being encour- 
aged only with fair words by King Charles II., 
my little salary ill paid, and no prospect of a 
future subsistence, I was then discouraged in 
the beginning of my attempt ; and now age has 
overtaken me ; and want, a more insufferable 
evil, through the change of the times, has 
wholly disabled me.' " 

Ytene's oaks. The New Forest in Hampshire, 
anciently so called. 

Ascafart and Bcvis hold. Ascapart, or As- 
cabart, was a giant who figures in the History 
of Bevis of Hampton, by whom he was con- 
quered. The images of the two are still to be 
-seen on either side of an old gate at Southamp- 
ton. Scott quotes the description of Ascapart 
from Mr. George Ellis's translation of the old 
romance : — 

" This geaunt was mighty and strong. 

And full thirty foot was long. 

He was bristled like a sow ; 

A foot he had between eacli brow : 

His lips were great, and hung aside ; 

His even were hollow, his mouth was wide; 

Loihly he was to look on than. 

And liker a devil than a man. 

His staff was a young oak. 

Hard and heavy was his stroke." 



CANTO FIRST. 

I. Norhani's castled steep. The ruinous castle 
of Norham (anciently called Ubbanford) is sit- 
uated on the southern bank of the Tweed, about 
six miles above Berwick, and where that river 
is still the boundary between England and Scot- 
land. The extent of its ruins, as well as its his- 
torical importance, show it to have been a place 
of magnificence, as well as strength. Edward 
I. resided there when he was created umpire of 
the dispute concerning the Scottish succession. 
It was repeatedly taken and retaken during the 
wars between England and Scotland; and, in- 
deed, scarce any happened in which it had not 
a principal share. Norham Castle is situated 
on a steep bank which overhangs the river. The 
repeated sieges which the castle had sustained 
rendered frequent rejDairs necessary. In 1 164 it 
was ahnost rebuilded by PI ugh Pudsey, Bishop 
of Durham, who added a huge keep or donjon ; 
notwithstanding which. King Henry II., in 1174, 
took the castle from the bishop, and committed 
the keeping of it to William de Neville. After 
this period it seems to have been chiefly gar- 
risoned by the king, and considered as a royal 
fortress. The Greys of Chillinghame Castle 
were frequently the castellans or ca])tains of 
the garrison. Yet, as the castle was situated in 
the patrimony of Saint Cuthbert, the property 
was in the see of Durhain till the Reformation. 
The ruins of the castle consist of a large shat- 
tered tower, with many vaults, and fragments of 
other edifices, enclosed within an outward wall 
of great circuit. 

I. The donjon keep. It is perhaps unnecessary 
to remind my readers that donjon, in its proper 
signification, means the strongest part of a 
feudal castle ; a high square tower, with walls 
of tremendous thickness, situated in the centre 
of the other buildings, from which, however, it 
was usually detached. Here, in case of the out- 
ward defences being gained, the garrison re- 
treated to make their last stand. The donjon 
contained the great hall, and principal rooms 
of state for solemn occasioiis, and also the 
prison of the fortress ; from which last circum- 
stance we derive the modern and restricted use 
of the word dungeon. 

6. Mail and plate of Mihui steel. The artists 
of Milan were famous in the middle ages for their 
skill in armory, as appears from the following 
passage, in which Froissart gives an account of 
the preparations made by Henry, Earl of Here- 
ford, afterwards Henry IV , and Thomas, Duke 
of Norfolk, Earl Marischal, for their proposed 
combat in the lists at Coventry: 'These two 
lords made ample provision of all things neces- 
sary for the combat ; and the Earl of Derby 
sent off messengers to Lombardy, to have 
armor from Sir Cialeas, Duke of Milan. 'l"he 
duke complied with joy, and gave the knight, 
called Sir Francis, wfio had brought the mes- 
sage, the choice of all his armor for the Earl of 
Derby. When he had selected what he wished 
for in plated and mail armor, the Lord of Milan, 
out of his abundant love for the earl, ordered 



M ARM ION. 



583 



four of the best armorers in Milan to accom- 
jjany the knight to England, that the Earl of 
Derby might be more completely armed.'" 

6. Checks at. The crest and motto of Mar- 
mion are borrowed from the following story : 
Sir David de Lindesay, first Earl of Crauford, 
was, among other gentlemen of quality, attended, 
during a visit to London, in 1390, by Sir Wil- 
liam Dalzell, who was, according to my author- 
ity, Bower, not only excelling in wisdom, but 
also of a lively wit. Chancing to be at the 
court, he there saw Sir Piers Courtenay, an 
English knight, famous for skill in tilting, and 
for the beauty of his person, parading the palace, 
arrayed in a new mantle, bearing for device an 
embroidered falcon, with this rhyme, — 

" I bear a falcon, fairest of flight, 
Whoso pinches at her, his death is dight,' 

In graith." ^ 

The Scottish knight, being a wag, appeared 
ne.xt day in a dress exactly similar to that of 
Courtenay, but bearing a magpie instead of a 
falcon, with a motto ingeniously contrived 
to rhyme to the vaunting inscription of Sir 
Piers : — 

" I bear a pie picking at a peice. 
Whoso picks at her, I shall picl< at his nese,^ 
In faith." 

This affront could only be expiated by a joust 
with sharp lances. In the course, Dalzell left 
his helmet unlaced, so that it gave way at the 
touch of his antagonist's lance, and he thus 
avoided the shock of the encounter. This hap- 
pened twice : in the third encounter, the hand- 
some Courtenay lost two of his front teeth. As 
the Englishman complained bitterly of Dalzell's 
fraud in not fastening his helmet, the Scottish- 
man agreed to run six courses more, each 
champion staking in the hand of the king two 
iumdred pounds, to be forfeited, if, on entering 
tiie lists, any unequal advantage should be 
detected. This being agreed to, the wily Scot 
demanded that Sir Piers, in addition to the loss 
of his teeth, should consent to the extinction of 
one of his eyes, he himself having lost an eye 
in the fight of Otterburn. As Courtenay de- 
murred Jo this equalization of optical powers, 
Dalzell demanded the forfeit, which, after much 
altercation, the king appointed to be paid to 
him, saying he surpassed the English both in 
wit and valor. 

II. They /tailed him, ^\.c. Lord Marmion, the 
]3rincipal character of the present romance, is 
entirely a fictitious personage. In earlier times, 
indeed, the family of Marmion, Lords of Fon- 
tenay, in Normandy, was highly distinguished. 
Robert de Marmion, Lord of Fontenay. a dis- 
tinguished follower of the Conqueror, obtained 
a grant of the castle and town of Tamworth, 
and also of the manor of Scrivelby, in Lincoln- 
shire. One or both of these noble possessions 
was held by the honorable service of being 
the royal cham]iion, as the ancestors of Mar- 



Prepared. 



Armor. 



•^ Nose. 



mion had formerly been to the Dukes of Nor- 
mandy. But after the castle and demesne of 
Tamworth had passed through four successive 
barons from Robert, the family became extinct 
in the person of Philip de Marmion, who died 
in 20th Edward I. without issue male. He was 
succeeded in his castle of Tamworth by Alex- 
ander de Freville, who married Mazera, his 
granddaughter. Baldwin de Freville, Alex- 
ander's descendant, in the reign of Richard I., 
by the supposed tenure of his castle of Tam- 
worth, claimed the office of royal champion, 
and to do the service appertaining; namely, 
on the day of coronation to ride, completely 
armed, upon a barbed horse, into Westmin- 
ster Hall, and there to challenge the combat 
against any who would gainsay the king's title. 
But this office was adjudged to Sir John Dy- 
moke, to whom the manor of Scrivelby had 
descended by another of the coheiresses of 
Robert de Marmion ; and it remains in that 
family, whose representative is Hereditary 
Champion of England at the present day. The 
family and possessions of Freville have merged 
in the Earls of Ferrars. I have not, therefore, 
created a new family, but only revived the titles 
of an old one in an imaginary personage. 

II. Nmv, largesse, etc. This was the cry 
with which heralds and pursuivants were wont 
to acknowledge the bounty received from the 
knights. The heralds, like the minstrels, were 
a race allowed to have great claims upon the 
liberality of the knights, of whose feats they 
kept a record, and proclaimed them aloud, as 
in the text, upon suitable occasions. At Ber- 
wick, Norham, and other Border fortresses of 
importance, pursuivants usually resided, whose 
inviolable character rendered them the only 
persons that could, with perfect assurance of 
safety, be sent on necessary einbassies into 
Scotland. This is alluded to in 21, below. 

13. Hugh the Heron. Were accuracy of any 
consequence in a fictitious narrative, this cas- 
tellan's name ought to have been William; for 
William Heron of Ford was husband to the 
famous Lady Ford, whose siren charms are 
said to have cost our James IV. so dear. 
Moreover, the said William Heron was, at 
the time supposed, a prisoner in Scotland, be- 
ing surrendered by Henry VIII., on account 
of his share in the slaughter of Sir Robert 
Ker of Cessford. His wife, represented in 
the text as residing at the Court of Scotland, 
was, in fact, living in her own castle at Ford. 

18. Warbeek. The story of Perkin Warbeck, 
or Richard, Duke of York, is well known. In 
1496 he was received honorably in Scotland; 
and James IV., after conferring upon him in 
marriage his own relation, the Lady Catherine 
Gordon, made war on England in behalf of his 
pretensions. To retaliate an invasion of Eng- 
land, Siurey advanced into Berwickshire at the 
head of considerable forces, but retreated after 
taking the inconsiderable fortress of Ayton. 

19. Have pricked as far, &\.c. The garrisons 
of the English castles of Wark, Norham, and 
Berwick were, as may be easily supposed, very 



584 



NOTES. 



troublesome neighbors to Scotland. Sir Rich- 
ard Maitland of Ledington wrote a poem, 
called " The Blind Baron's Comfort," when 
his barony of Blythe, in Lauderdale, was /lur- 
ried by Rowland Foster, the English captain 
of Wark, with his company, to the number of 
300 men. They spoiled the poetical knight of 
5,000 sheep, 200 nolt, 30 horses and mares ; the 
whole furniture of his house of Blythe, worth 
100 pounds Scots, and everything else that was 
portable. " This spoil was committed the i6th 
day of May, 1570 (and the said Sir Richard was 
threescore and fourteen years of age, and grown 
blind), in time of peace; when nane of that 
country lippened [expected] such a thing." 

19. To set their hoods. The line contains a 
phrase by which the Borderers jocularly inti- 
mated the burning of a house. When the Max- 
wells, in 1685, burned the castle of Lockwood, 
they said they did so to give the Lady John- 
stone " light to set her hood." Nor was the 
phrase inapplicable ; for, in a letter to which I 
have mislaid the reference, the Earl of North- 
umberland writes to the king and council, that 
he dressed himself, at midnight, at Warwick, 
by the blaze of the neighboring villages burned 
by the Scottish marauders. 

2 1 . The priest of Shoreswood. This chiirch- 
man seem.s to have been akin to Welsh, the 
vicar of St. Thomas of Exeter, a leader among 
the Cornish insurgents in 1549. "This man," 
says Holinshed, " had many good things in him. 
lie was of no great stature, but well set, and 
mightilie compact : he was a very good wrestler ; 
shot well, both in the long-bow, and also in the 
cross-bow ; he handled his hand-gun and peece 
very well ; he was a very good woodman, and a 
hardie, and such a one as would not give his 
head for the poling, or his beard for the wash- 
ing. He was a companion in any exercise of 
activitie, and of a courteous and gentle be- 
haviour. He descended of a good, honest 
parentage, being borne at Peneverin, in Corn- 
wall ; and yet, in this rebellion, an arch-captain, 
and a principal doer." This model of clerical 
talents had the misfortune to be hanged upon 
the steeple of his own church. 

23. A holy Talmer. A Palmer, opposed to a 
nigriiH, was one who made it his sole business 
to visit different holy shrines, travelling inces- 
santly, and subsisting by charity ; whereas the 
Pilgrim retired to his usual home and occupa- 
tions, when he had paid his devotions at the 
particular spot which was the object of his 
pilgrimage. 

23. And of that Grot, etc. Scott here quotes 
the Voyage to Sicily and Malta, by Mr. John 
Dryden (son of the poet) : " Santa Rosalia was 
of Palermo, and born of a very noble family, 
and, when very young, abhorred so much the 
vanities of this world, and avoided the con- 
verse of mankind, resolving to dedicate herself 
wholly to God Almighty, that she, by divine 
inspiration, forsook her father's house, and 
never was more heard of, till her body was 
found' in that cleft of a rock, on that almost 
inaccessible mountain, where now the chapel 



is built ; and they affirm she was carried up 
there by the hands of angels ; for that place 
was not formerly so accessible (as now it is) in 
the days of the saint ; and even now it is a 
very bad, and steepy, and breakneck way. In 
this frightful place this holy woman lived a 
great many years, feeding only on what she 
found growing on that barren mountain, and 
creeping into a narrow and dreadful cleft in a 
rock, which was always dropping wet, and was 
her place of retirement, as well as prayer ; hav- 
ing worn out even the rock with her knees, in 
a certain place, which is now opened on pur- 
pose to show it to those who con.e here. This 
chapel is very richly adcSrned ; and on the spot 
where the saint's dead body was discovered, 
which is just beneath the hole in the rock, 
which is opened on purpose, as I said, there 
is a very fine statue of marble, representing 
her in a lying posture, railed in all about with 
fine iron and brass work : and the altar, on 
which they say mass, is built just over it." 

29. Where good Saint Kiile, etc. Saint Regulus 
{Scottice, St. Rule), a monk of Patrae, in Achaia, 
warned by a vision, is said, A. D. 370, to have 
sailed westward, until he landed at St. An- 
drew's, in Scotland, where he founded a chapel 
and tower. The latter is still standing ; and, 
though we may doubt the precise date of its 
foundation, is certainly one of the most ancient 
edifices in Scotland. A cave, nearly fronting 
the ruinous castle of the Archbishops of St. 
Andrew's, bears the name of this religious per- 
son. It is difficult of access, and the rock in 
which it is hewed is washed by the German 
ocean. It is nearly round, about ten feet in 
diameter, and the same in height. On one 
side is a sort of stone altar; on the other an 
aperture into an inner den, where the miserable 
ascetic, who inhabited this dwelling, probably 
slept. At full tide, egress and regress is hardly 
practicable. 

29. Saint Fillan's blessed well. Saint Fillan 
was a Scottish saint of some reputation. . . . 
There are in Perthshire several wells and 
springs dedicated to Saint Fillan, which are still 
places of pilgrimage and offerings, even among 
the Protestants. They are held powerful in 
cases of madness ; and, in some of very late 
occurrence, lunatics have been left 9II night 
bound to the holy stone, in confidence that 
the saint would cure and unloose them before 
morning. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. 

The scenes are desei-t nozc, etc. Ettrick For- 
est, now a range of mountainous sheep-walks, 
was anciently reserved for the pleasure of the 
royal chase. Since it was disparked, the wood 
has been, by degrees, almost totally destroyed, 
although, wherever protected from the sheep, 
copses soon arise without any planting. When 
the king hunted there, he often summoned the 
array of the country to meet and assist his 



M ARM ION. 



585 



sport. Thus, in 1528, James V. " made procla- 
mation to all lords, barons, gentlemen, land- 
wardmen, and freeholders, that they should 
compear at Edinburgh, with a month's victuals, 
to pass with the king where he pleased, to dan- 
ton the thieves of Tiviotdale, Annandale, Lid- 
disdale, and other parts of that country ; and 
also warned all gentlemen that had good dogs, 
to bring them, that he might hunt in the said 
country as he pleased : The whilk the Earl 
of Argyle, the Earl of Huntley, the Earl of 
Athole, and so all the rest of the gentlemen 
of the Highland, did, and brought their hounds 
with them in like manner, to hunt with the 
king, as he pleased. 

" The second clay of June the king passed 
out of Edinburgh to the hunting, with many 
of the nobles and gentlemen of Scotland with 
him, to the number of twelve thousand men ; 
and then past to Meggitland, and hounded and 
hawked all the country and bounds ; that is 
to say, Crammat, Pappert-law, St. Mary-laws, 
Carlavirick, Chapel, Ewindoores, and Long- 
hope. I heard say, he slew, in these bounds, 
eighteen score of harts " (Pitscottie's Hist, of 
Scotland, folio ed. p. 143). 

These huntings had, of course, a military 
character, and attendance upon them was a part 
of the duty of a vassal. The act for abolishing 
ward or military tenures in Scotland enumer- 
ates the services of hunting, hosting, watching, 
and warding, as those which were in future to 
be illegal. 

Then oft from JVewark^s riven tower, etc. 
The tale of the Outlaw Murray, who held out 
Newark Castle and Ettrick Forest against the 
king, may be found in the Border Minstrelsy, 
vol. i. In the Macfarlane MS., among other 
causes of James the Fifth's charter to the 
burgh, is mentioned that the citizens assisted 
him to suppress this dangerous outlaw 

Lone Saint Marys silent lake. This beautiful 
sheet of water forms the reservoir from which 
the Yarrow takes its source. It is connected 
with a smaller lake, called the Loch of the 
Lowes, and surrounded by mountains. la the 
winter it is still frequented by flights of wild 
swans ; hence my friend Mr. Wordsworth's 
lines : — 

" The swans on sweet Saint Mary's lake 
Float double, swan and shadow." 

Near the lower extremity of the lake are 
the ruins of Dryhope Tower, the birthplace of 
Mary Scott, daughter of Philip Scott of Dry- 
hope, and famous by the traditional name of 
the Flower of Yarrow. She was married to 
Walter Scott of Harden, no less renowned for 
his depredations than his bride for her beauty. 
Her romantic appellation was, in latter days, 
with equal justice, conferred on Miss Mary 
Lilias Scott, the last of the elder branch of 
the Harden family. 

Onr Lad/s Chapel. The Chapel of Saint 
Mary of the Lowes (de lacubns) was situated 
on the eastern side of the lake, to which it 
gives name. It was injured by the clan of 
Scott, in a feud with the Cranstouns, but con- 



tinued to be a place of worship during the seven- 
teenth century. The vestiges of the building 
can novy scarcely be traced ; but the burial- 
ground is still used as a cemetery. A funeral, 
in a spot so very retired, has an uncommonly 
striking effect. The vestiges of the chaplain's 
house are yet visible. Being in a high situa- 
tion, it commanded a full view of the lake, 
with the opposite mountain of Bourhope, be- 
longing, with the lake itself, to Lord Napier. 
On the left hand is the tower of Dryhope, 
mentioned in a preceding note. 

The Wizard's grave. At one corner of the 
burial-ground of the demolished chapel, but 
without its precincts, is a small mound, called 
Bin ram's corse, where tradition deposits the 
remains of a necromantic priest, the former 
tenant of the chaplainry. 

Loch-skene. A mountain lake of considera- 
ble size, at the head of the Moffat-water. The 
character of the scenery is uncommonly sav- 
age, and the earn, or Scottish eagle, has for 
many ages built its nest yearly upon an islet 
in the lake. Loch-skene discharges itself into 
a brook, which, after a short and precipitate 
course, falls from a cataract of immense height 
and gloomy grandeur, called, from its appear- 
ance, the " Gray Mare's Tail." The " Giant's 
Grave," afterwards mentioned, is a sort of 
trench which bears that name, a little way from 
the foot of the cataract. It has the appearance 
of a battery, designed to command the pass. 



CANTO SECOND. 

I. The breeze, etc. In the ist edition a period 
was accidentally substituted for a comma at the 
end of line 5, and neither the author nor any 
former editor appears to have detected the 
error, though it makes nonsense of the passage 
by changing the participle rolled (referring to 
smoke) to a past tense of which breeze is the 
subject (W. J. R.). 

I. High Whitbfs cloistered pile. The Abbey 
of Whitby, on the coast of Yorkshire, was 
founded a. d. 657, in consequence of a vow of 
Oswy, King of Northumberland. It contained 
both monks and nuns of the Benedictine order; 
but, contrary to what was usual in such estab- 
lishments, the abbess was superior to the ab- 
bot. The monastery was afterwards ruined by 
the Danes, and rebuilded by William Percy, in 
the reign of the Conqueror. 

Lindisfarne, an isle on the coast of North- 
umberland, was called Holy Island, from the 
sanctity of its ancient monastery, and from its 
having been the Episcopal seat of the see of 
Durham during the early ages of British Chris- 
tianity. A succession of holy men held that 
office ; but their merits were swalhnved up in 
the superior fame of Saint Cuthbert, who was 
sixth bishop of Durham, and who bestowed the 
name of his " patrimony " upon the extensive 
property of the see. The ruins of the monas- 
tery upon Holy Island betoken great antiquity. 



586 



NOTES. 



The arches are, in general, strictly Saxon ; and 
the pillars which support them, short, strong, 
and massy. In some places, however, there 
are pointed windows, which indicate that the 
building has been repaired at a period long 
subsequent to the original foundation. The 
exterior ornaments of the building, being of a 
light sandy stone, have been wasted, as de- 
scribed in the text. Lindisfarne is not prop- 
erly an island, but rather, as the Venerable 
Bede has termed it, a semi-isle ; for, although 
surrounded by the sea at full tide, the ebb 
leaves the sands dry between it and the oppo- 
site coast of Northumberland, from which it is 
about three miles distant. 

13. Three barons bold, &Xc. The popular ac- 
count of this curious service, which was proba- 
bly considerably exaggerated, is thus given in 
A True Account, printed and circulated at Whit- 
by : " In the fifth year of the reign of Henry 
II., after the conquest of England by William, 
Duke of Normandy, the I.ord of Uglebarnby, 
then called William de Bruce, the Lord of 
Smeaton, called Ralph de Percy, with a gentle- 
man and freeholder called Allatson, did, on 
the i6th of October, 1159, appoint to meet and 
hunt the wild boar, in a certam wood, or desert 
place, belonging to the Abbot of Whitby: the 
place's name was Eskdale-side ; and the abbot's 
name was Sedman. Then, these young gen- 
tlemen being met, with their hounds and boar- 
staves, in the place before mentioned, and there 
having found a great wild boar, the hounds ran 
him well near aljout the chapel and hermitage 
of Eskdale-side, where was a monk of Whitby, 
who was an hermit. The boar, being very 
sorely pursued, and dead-run, took in at the 
chapel door, there laid him down, and pres- 
ently died. The hermit shut the hounds out of 
the chapel, and kept himself within at his medi- 
tations and prayers, the hounds standing at bay 
without. The gentlemen, in the thick of the 
wood, being put behind their game, followed 
the cry of their hounds, and so came to the her- 
mitage, calling on the hermit, who opened the 
door, and came forth ; and within they found 
the boar lying dead: for which the gentlemen, 
in a very great fury, because the hounds were 
put from their game, did most violently and 
cruelly run at the hermit with their boar-staves, 
whereby he soon after died. Thereupon the 
gentlemen perceiving and knowing that they 
were in peril of death, took sanctuary at Scar- 
borough ; but at that time the abbot being in 
very great favor with the king, removed them 
out of the sanctuary ; whereby they came in 
danger of the law, and not to be privileged, but 
likely to have the severity of the law, which was 
death for death. But the hermit being a holy 
and devout man, and at the point of death, sent 
for the abbot, and desired him to send for the 
gentlemen who had wounded him. The abbot 
so doing, the gentlemen came ; and the hermit 
being very sick and weak, said unto them, ' I 
am sure to die of those wounds you have given 
me.' The abbot answered, ' They shall as 
surelv die for the same.' But the hermit an- 



swered, ' Not so, for I will freely forgive them 
my death, if they will be content to be enjoined 
the penance I shall lay on them for the safe- 
guard of their souls.' The gentlemen being 
present, bade him save their lives. Then said 
the hermit: 'You and yours shall hold your 
lands of the Abbot of Whitby, and his succes- 
sors, in this manner : That, upon Ascension- 
day, you, or some of you, shall come to the 
wood of the Strayheads, which is in Eskdale- 
side, the same day at sun-rising, and there shall 
the abbot's officer blow his horn, to the intent 
that you may know where to find him ; and he 
shall deliver unto you, William de Bruce, ten 
stakes, eleven strout stowers, and eleven yeth- 
ers, to be cut by you, or some for you, with a 
knife of one penny price ; and you, Ralph de 
Percy, shall take twenty-one of each sort, to be 
cut in the same manner ; and you, Allatson, 
shall take nine of each sort, to be cut as afore- 
said ; and to be taken on your backs, and car- 
ried to the town of Whitby, and to be there 
before nine of the clock the same day before 
mentioned. At the same hour of nine of the 
clock, if it be full sea, your labor and service 
shall cease ; and, if low water, each of you shall 
set your stakes to the brim, each stake one yard 
from the other, and so yether them on each side 
with your yethers ; and so stake on each side 
with your strout stowers, that they may stand 
three tides, without removing by the force 
thereof. Each of you shall do, make, and exe- 
cute the .said service, at that very hour, every 
year, except it be full sea at that hour ; but 
when it shall so fall out, this service shall cease. 
You shall faithfully do this, in remembrance 
that you did most cruelly slay me ; and that you 
may the better call to God for mercy, repent 
unfeignedly of your sins, and do good works." 

13. Edelfled.' She was the daughter of King 
Oswy, who, in gratitude to Heaven for the 
great victory which he won in 655, against Pen- 
da, the pagan King of Mercia, dedicated Edel- 
fleda, then but a year old, to the service of God, 
in the monastery of Whitby, of which Saint Hil- 
da was then abbess. She afterwards adorned the 
place of her education with great magnificence. 

13. And /low of t/ioHsand snakes, tic. These 
two miracles are much insisted upon by all an- 
cient writers, who have occasion to mention 
either Whitby or Saint Hilda. The reliques of 
the snakes which infested the precincts of the 
convent, and were, at the abbess's prayer, not 
only beheaded, but petrified, are still found 
about the rocks, and are termed by Protestant 
fossilists AtnmoniftF. 

The other miracle is thus mentioned by Cam- 
den : " It is also ascribed to the power of her 
sanctity, that these wild geese, which, in the 
winter, fly in great flocks to the lakes and riv- 
ers unfrozen m the southern parts, to the great 
amazement of every one, fall down suddenly 
upon the ground, when they are in their flight 
over certain neighboring fields hereabouts : a 
relation I should not have made, if I had not 
received it from several credible men. But 
those who are less inclined to heed supersti- 



M ARM ION. 



587 



tion, attribute it to some occult quality in the 
ground, and to somewhat of antipathy between 
it and the geese, such as they say is between 
wolves and scylla-roots. For that such hidden 
tendencies and aversions, as we call sympathies 
and antipathies, are implanted in many things by 
provident nature for the preservation of them, 
is a thing so evident that everybody grants it." 

14. His body's resting-place, etc. Saint Cuth- 
bert was, in the choice of his sepulchre, one of the 
most mutable and unreasonable saints in the Cal- 
endar. He died a. d. 688, in a hermitage upon 
the Fame Islands, having resigned the bishopric 
of Lindisfarne, or Holy Island, about two years 
before. His body was brought to Lindisfarne, 
where it remained until a descent of the Danes, 
about 793, when the monastery was nearly de- 
stroyed. The monks fled to Scotland, with 
what they deemed their chief treasure, the 
relics of Saint Cuthbert. The saint was, how- 
ever, a most capricious fellow-traveller ; which 
was the more intolerable, as, like Sinbad's Old 
Man of the Sea, he journeyed upon the shoul- 
ders of his companions. They paraded him 
through Scotland for several years, and came 
as far west as VVhithern, in Galloway, whence 
they attempted to sail for Ireland, but were 
driven back by tempests. He at length made 
a halt at Norham ; from thence he went to Mel- 
rose, where he remained stationary for a short 
time, and then caused himself to be launched 
upon the Tweed in a stone coffin, which landed 
him at Tilmouth, in Northumberland. This 
boat is finely shaped, ten feet long, three feet and 
a half in diameter, and only four inches thick ; 
so that, with very little assistance, it might cer- 
tainly have swam. It still lies, or at least did 
so a few years ago, in two pieces, beside the 
ruined chapel of Tilmouth. From Tilmouth, 
Cuthbert wandered into Yorkshire; and at 
length made a long stay at Chester-le-Street, 
to which the bishop's see was transferred. At 
length, the Danes continuing to infest the coun- 
try, the monks removed to Ripon for a season ; 
and it was in returning from thence to Chester- 
le-Street, that, passing through a forest called 
Dunholme, the saint and his carriage became 
immovable at a place named Wardlaw, or 
Wardilaw. Here the saint chose his place of 
residence ; and all who have seen Durham must 
admit that, if difficult in his choice, he evinced 
taste in at length fixing it. 

1 5. Even Scotland's dauntless king, etc. Every 
one has heard that when David I., with his son 
Henry, invaded Northumberland in 1136, the 
English host marched against them under the 
holy banner of Saint Cuthbert ; to the efficacy of 
which was imputed the great victory which they 
obtained in the bloody battle of Northallerton, 
or Cuton-moor. 

15. ' T was he, Qtc. Cuthbert, we have seen, 
had no great reason to spare the Danes, when 
opportunity offered. Accordingly, I find in Sim- 
eon of Durham, that the saint appeared in a 
vision to Alfred, when lurking in the marshes 
of Glastonbury, and promised him assistance 
and victory over his heathen enemies : a con- 



solation which, as was reasonable, Alfred, after 
the victory of Ashendown, rewarded by a royal 
offering at the shrine of the saint. As to Wil- 
liam the Conqueror, the terror spread before 
his army, when he marched to punish the revolt 
of the Northumbrians, in 1096, had forced the 
monks to fly once more to Holy Island with the 
body of the saint. It was, however, replaced 
before William left the North; and, to balance 
accounts, the Conqueror having intimated an 
indiscreet curiosity to view the saint's body, he 
was, while in the act of commanding the shrine 
to be opened, seized with heat and sickness, 
accompanied with such a panic terror that, not- 
withstanding there was a sumptuous dinner 
prepared for him, he fled without eating a mor- 
sel (which the monkish historian seems to have 
thought no small part both of the miracle and 
the penance), and never drew his bridle till he 
got to the river Tees. 

16. Saint Cuthbe7-t sits, etc. Although we do 
not learn that Cuthbert was, during his life, 
such an artificer as Dunstan, his brother in 
sanctity, yet since his death he has acquired 
the reputation of forging those Entrocki which 
are found among the rocks of Holy Island, and 
pass there by the name of Saint Cuthbert's 
Beads. While at this task, he is supposed to 
sit during the night upon a certain rock, and use 
another as his anvil. 

17. Old Cokaulf, etc. Ceolwulf, or Colwulf, 
King of Northumberland, flourished in the 
eighth century. He was a man of some learn- 
ing ; for the Venerable Bede dedicates to him 
his Ecclesiastical History. He abdicated the 
throne about 738, and retired to Holy Island, 
where he died in the odor of sanctity. Saint as 
Colwulf was, however, I fear the foundation of 
the penance-vault does not correspond with his 
character ; for it is recorded among his memo- 
rabilia, that, finding the air of the island raw and 
cold, he indulged the monks, whose rule had 
hitherto confined them to milk or water, with the 
comfortable privilege of using wine or ale. If 
any rigid antiquary insists on this objection, he 
is welcome to suppose the penance-vault was 
intended, by the founder, for the more genial 
purposes of a cellar. 

19. Tynemoiitli's haughty prioress. That there 
was an ancient priory at Tynemouth is certain. 
Its ruins are situated on a high rocky point; 
and, doubtless, many a vow was made at the 
shrine by the distressed mariners, who drove 
towards the iron-bound coast of Northumber- 
land in stormy weather. It was anciently a 
nunnery; for Virca, Abbess of Tynemouth, pre- 
sented Saint Cuthbert (yet alive) with a rare 
winding-sheet, in emulation of a holy lady called 
Tuda, who had sent him a coffin. But, as in 
the case of Whitby, and of Holy Island, the in- 
troduction of nuns at Tynemouth, in the reign 
of Henry VIII., is an anachronism. The nun- 
nery at Holy Island is altogether fictitious. In- 
deed, Saint Cuthbert was unlikely to permit such 
an establishment: for, notwithstanding his ac- 
cepting the mortuary gifts above mentioned, 
and his carrying on a visiting acquaintance with 



588 



NOTES. 



the Abbess of Coldingham, he certainly hated 
the whole female sex ; and, in revenge of a 
slippery trick played to him by an Irish prin- 
cess, he, after death, inflicted severe penances 
on such as presumed to approach within a cer- 
tain distance of his shrine. 

25. Alive within the tomb, etc. It is well 
known that the religious who broke their vows 
of chastity were subjected to the same penalty 
as the Roman vestals in a similar case. A 
small niche, sufficient to enclose their bodies, 
was made in the massive wall of the convent ; 
a slender pittance of food and water was de- 
posited in it, and the awful words, Vaae in 
pacem, were the signal for immuring the crim- 
inal. It is not likely that, in latter times, this 
punishment was often resorted to ; but, among 
the ruins of the abbey of Coldingham, were 
some years ago discovered the remains of a 
female skeleton, which, from the shape of the 
niche and position of the figure, seemed to be 
that of an immured nun. 



CANTO THIRD. 

2. The village inn. The accommodations of a 
Scottish hostelrie, or inn, in the sixteenth cen- 
tury, maybe collected from Dunbar's admirable 
tale of 7he Friars of Berivick. Simon Lawder, 
" the gay ostlier," seems to have lived very 
comfortably ; and his wife decorated her per- 
son with a scarlet kirtle, and a belt of silk and 
silver, and rings upon her fingers ; and feasted 
her paramour with rabbits, capons, partridges, 
and Bourdeaux wine. At least, if the Scottish 
inns were not good, it was not for want of en- 
couragement trom the Legislature ; who, so 
early as the reign of James I., not only enacted 
that in all boroughs and fairs there be hostel- 
laries, having stables and chambers, and ]3ro- 
vision for man and horse, but by another 
statute, ordained that no man, travelling on 
horse or foot, should presume to lodge any- 
where except in these hostellaries ; and that no 
person, save innkeepers, should receive such 
travellers, under the ]3enalty of forty shillings, 
for exercising such hospitality. 

13. Seemed in my ear, etc. Among other 
omens to which faithful credit is given among 
the Scottish peasantry, is what is called the 
" dead-beli," explained by my friend James 
Hogg to be that tinkling in the ear which the 
country people regard as the secret intelligence 
of some friend's decease. 

19. 77/1? Gobliti-Hall. A vaulted hall under 
the ancient castle of Gifford, or Yester (for it 
bears either name indifferently), the construc- 
tion of which has, from a very remote period, 
been ascribed to magic. 

20. Haco's b'lnner, etc. In 1263, Haco, King 
of Norway, came into the Firth of Clyde with 
a powerful armament, and made a descent at 
Largs, in Ayrshire. Here he was encountered 
and defeated, on the 2d October, by Alexandf r 
III. Haco retreated to Orkney, where he died 



soon after this disgrace to his arms. There are 
still existing, near the place of battle, many 
barrows, some of which, having been opened,' 
were found, as usual, to contain bones and 
urns. 

20. Wizard habit stj-ange. Scott quotes Reg- 
inald Scot's Discffverie of Witchcraft, ed. 1665 : 
" Magicians, as is well known, were very curi- 
ous in the choice and form of their vestments. 
Their caps are oval, or like pyramids, with lap- 
pets on each side, and fur within. Their gowns 
are long, and furred with fox-skins, under which 
they have a linen garment reaching to the knee. 
Their girdles are three inches broad, and have 
many cabalistical names, with crosses, trines,^ 
and circles inscribed on them. Their shoes 
should be of new russet leather, with a cross 
cut upon them. Their knives are dagger- 
fashion ; and their swords have neither guard 
nor scabbard." 

20. A pentacle. Scott again cites Reginald 
Scot: "A pentacle is a piece of fine linen, 
folded with five corners, according to the five 
senses, and suitably inscribed with characters. 
This the magician extends towards tiie spirits 
which he invokes, when they are stubborn and 
rebellious, and refuse to be corformable unto 
the ceremonies and rites of magic." 

22. Born upon that blessed night, etc. It is a 
popular article of faith, that those who are born 
on Christmas or Good-Friday have the jjower of 
seeing spirits, and even of commanding them. 
The Spaniards imputed the haggard and down- 
cast looks of their Philip II. to the disagreeable 
visions to which this privilege subjected him. 

25. The Elfin Warrior, etc. Gervase of Til- 
bury relates the following popular story con- 
cerning a fairy knight : " Osbert, a bold and 
powerful baron, visited a noble family in the 
vicinity of Wandlebury, in the bishopric of 
Ely. Among other stories related in the social 
circle of his friends, who, according to custom, 
amused each other by repeating ancient tales 
and traditions, he was informed that if any 
knight, unattended, entered an adjacent plain 
by moonlight, and challenged an adversary to 
appear, he would be immediately encountered 
by a spirit in the form of a knight. Osbert 
resolved to make the experiment, and set out, 
attended by a single squire, whom he ordered 
to remain without the limits of the plain, which 
was surrounded by an ancient entrenchment. 
On repeating the challenge he was instantly 
assailed by an adversary, whom he quickly un- 
horsed, and seized the reins of his steed. Dur- 
ing this operation his ghostly opponent sprung 
up, and, darting his spear, like a javelin, at Os- 
bert, wounded him in the thigh Osbert re- 
turned in triumph with the horse, which he 
committed to the care of his servants. The 
horse was of a sable color, as well as his whole 
accoutrements, and apparently of great beauty 
and vigor. He remained with his keeper till 
cockcrowing, when, with eyes flashing fire, he 
reared, spurned the ground, and vanished. On 
disarming himself, Osbert perceived that he 
was wounded, and that one of his steel-boots 



MARMION. 



589 



was full of blood." Gervase adds, that, as long 
as he lived, the scar of his wound opened afresh 
on the anniversary of the eve on which he en- 
countered the spirit. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH. 

The morn f?iay find (he stiffened s'wain. I 
cannot help here mentioning, that, on the night 
in wliich these lines were written, suggested, as 
they were, by a sudden fall of snow, beginning 
after sunset, an unfortunate man perished ex- 
actly in the manner here described, and his 
body was ne.xt morning found close to his own 
house. The accident happened within five 
miles of the farm of Ashestiel. 

Lamented Forbes. Sir William Forbes of Pit- 
sligo, Baronet ; unequalled, perhaps, in the de- 
gree of individual affection entertained for him 
by his friends, as well as in the general respect 
and esteem of Scotland at large. His Life of 
Beattie, whom he befriended and patronized in 
life, as well as celebrated after his decease, was 
not long published, before the benevolent and 
affectionate biographer was called to follow 
t^e subject of his narrative. This melancholy 
event very shortly succeeded the marriage of 
the friend to whom this introduction is ad- 
dressed, with one of Sir William's daughters. 



CANTO FOURTH. 

I. L.antern-led by Friar Rush. The name of 
Friar Rush was due to an old story that the elf 
once got admittance into a monastery as a scul- 
lion, and played the monks many tricks. 

7. Sir David Lindesay, ft\.c. I am uncertain 
if I abuse poetical license by introducing Sir 
David Lindesay in the character of Lion- Her- 
ald si.xteen years before he obtained that office. 
At any rate, I am not the first who has been 
guilty of the anachronism ; for the author of 
Flodden Field despatches Dallamouut, which 
can mean nobody but Sir David de la Mont, to 
France, on the message of defiance from James 
IV. to Henry VIII. It was often an office im- 
posed on the Lion King-at-arms, to receive for- 
eign embassadors ; and Lindesay himself did 
this honor to Sir Ralph Sadler in 1 539-1 540. 
Indeed, the oath of the Lion, in its first article, 
bears reference to his frequent employment 
upon royal messages and embassies. 

10. Crichtoun Castle. A large ruinous castle 
on the banks of the Tyne, about seven miles 
from Edinburgh. As indicated in the text, it 
was built at different times and with a very 
differing regard to splendor and accommoda- 
tion. The oldest part of the building is a nar- 
row keep, or tower, such as formed the mansion 
of a lesser Scottish baron ; but so many addi- 
tions have been made to it that there is now a 
large court-yard, surrounded by buildings of 
different ages. The eastern front of the court 



is raised above a portico, and decorated with 
entablatures bearing anchors. All the stones 
of this front are cut into diamond facets, the 
angular projections of which have an uncom- 
monly rich appearance. 

1 2. Earl Adam Hepburn. He was the sec- 
ond Earl of Bothwell, and fell in the field of 
Flodden, where, according to an ancient Eng. 
lish poet, he distinguished himself by a furious 
attepipt to retrieve the day. See Flodden Field, 
ed. 1S08: — 

"Then on the Scottish part, right proud. 

The Earl of Botliwell then out brast. 
And stepping forth, witli stomacli good, 

Into the enemies' throng he thrast ; 
And Bothwell ! Bothwell ! cried bold, 

To cause his souldiers to ensue. 
But there he caught a wellcome cold. 

The Englishmen straight down him threw. 
Thus Haburn through his hardy heart 

His fatal fine in conflict found," etc. 

14. For that a messenger from heaven, etc. 
This story is told by Pitscottie with character- 
istic simplicity : " The king, seeing that France 
could get no support of him for that time, made 
a proclamation, full hastily, through all the 
realm of Scotland, both east and west, south 
and north, as well in the Isles as in the firm 
land, to all manner of man betwixt sixty and 
sixteen years, that they should be ready, within 
twenty days, to pass with him, with forty days 
victual, and to meet at the Burrow-muir of 
Edinburgh, and there to pass forward where 
he pleased. His proclamations were hastily 
obeyed, contrary the Council of Scotland's 
will; but every man loved his prince so well, 
that they would on no ways disobey him ; but 
every man caused make his proclamation so 
hastily, conform to the charge of the king's 
proclamation. 

" The king came to Lithgow, where he hap- 
pened to be for the time at the council, very 
sad and dolorous, making his devotion to God, 
to send him good chance and fortune in his 
voyage. In this mean time, there came a man 
clad in a blue gown in at the kirk-door, and 
belted about him in a roll of linen cloth ; a pair 
of brotikings ^ on his feet, to the great of his 
legs; with all other hose- and clothes conform 
thereto : but he had nothing on his head, but 
syde ^ red yellow hair behind, and on his haf- 
fets,3 which wan down to his shoulders ; but his 
forehead was bald and bare. He seemed to be 
a man of two-and-fifty years, with a great ])ike- 
staff in his hand, and came first forward among 
the lords, crying and speiring ■* for the king, 
saying, he desired to speak with him. While, 
at the last, he came where the king was sitting 
in the desk at his prayers; but when he saw 
the king, he made him little reverence or salu- 
tation, but leaned down grofling on the desk 
before him, and said to him in this manner, as 
after follows : 'Sir king, my mother hath sent 
me to you, desiring you not to pass, at this 
time, where thou art purposed ; for if thou 
does, thou wilt not fare well in thy journey, 
nor none that passeth with thee. Further, she 



' Buskins. 



Long. 



Cheeks. * Asking. 



590 



NOTES. 



bade thee mell ^ with no woman, nor use their 
counsel, nor let them touch thy body, nor thou 
theirs ; for, if thou do it, thou wilt be con- 
founded and brought to shame.' 

" By this man had spoken thir words unto 
the king's grace, the evening song was near 
done, and the king paused on thir words, study- 
ing to give him an answer ; but, in the mean 
time, before the king's eyes, and in the presence 
of all the lords that were about him for the 
time, this man vanished away, and could no 
ways be seen nor comprehended, but vanished 
away as he had been a blink of the sun, or a 
whip of the whirlwind, and could no more be 
seen. I heard say. Sir David Lindesay, lyon- 
herauld, and John Inglis the marshal, who were, 
at that time, young men, and special servants 
to the king's grace, were standing presently be- 
side the king, who thought to have laid hands 
on this man, that they might have speired fur- 
ther tidings at him. 'But all for nought; they 
could not touch him; for he vanished away 
betwi.\t them, and was no more seen." 

1 5. ne wild buck bells. I am glad of an op- 
portunity to describe the cry of the deer by 
another word than brayi)ig, although the latter 
has been sanctified by the use of the Scottish 
metrical translation of the Psalms. Bell seems 
to be an abbreviation of bellow. This sylvan 
sound conveyed great delight to our ancestors, 
chiefly, I suppose, from association. A gentle 
knight in the reign of Henry VIII., Sir Thomas 
Wortley, built Wantley Lodge, in Wancliffe 
Forest, for the pleasure (as an ancient inscrip- 
tion testifies) of "listening to the hart's hell.'''' 

I 5. June saw his fathei'''s overtln'ozo. The re- 
bellion against James III. was signalized by the 
cruel circumstance of his son's presence in the 
hostile army. When the king saw his own 
banner displayed against him, and his son in 
the faction of his enemies, he lost the little 
courage he ever possessed, fled out of the field, 
fell from his horse, as it started at a woman 
and water-pitcher, and was slain, it is not well 
understood by whom. James IV., after the 
battle, passed to Stirling, and hearing the 
monks pf the chapel royal deploring the death 
of his hither, their founder, he was seized with 
deep remorse, which manifested itself in severe 
penances. The battle of Sauchie-burn, in which 
James III. fell, was fought iSth June, 148S. 

25. The Boroiigh-moor. The Borough, or 
common Moor of Edinburgh, was of very great 
extent, reaching from the southern walls of the 
city to the bottom of Braid Hills. It was an- 
cientlv a forest ; and, in that state, was so great 
a nuisance, that the inhabitants of Edinburgh 
had permission granted to them of building 
wooden galleries, projecting over the street, in 
order to encourage them to consume the tim- 
ber ; which they seem to have done very effec- 
tually. When James IV. mustered the array of 
the kingdom there, in 1513, the Borough-moor 
was, according to Hawthornden, " a field spa- 
cious, and delightful by the shade of many 
stately and aged oaks.'' Upon that, and similar 
1 Meddle. 



occasions, the royal standard is traditionally said 
to have been displayed from the Hare Stone, a 
high stone, now built into the wall, on the left 
hand of the highway leading towards Braid, not 
far from the head of Bruntsfield-links. The 
Hare Stone probably derives its name from 
the British word Har, signifying an army. 

27. Bortkwick's Sisters Seven. Seven culver- 
ins, so called, cast by one Borthwick. 

28. Scroll, pennon, etc. Each of these feudal 
ensigns intimated the different rank of those 
entitled to disphy them. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH. 

Caledonians Queen, etc. The Old Town of 
Edinburgh was secured on the north side by 
a lake, now drained, and on the south by a 
wall, which there was some attempt to make 
defensible even so late as 1745. The gates, 
and the greater part of the wall, have been 
pulled down, in the course of the late extensive 
and beautiful enlargement of the city. 

'J'o IIen7y 7neek she gave repose. Henry VI., 
with his queen, his heir, and the chiefs of his 
family, fled to Scotland after the fatal battle of 
Towton. • 

Great Bourhon^s relics, etc. In January, 1796, 
the exiled Count d'Artois, afterwards Charles 
X. of France, took up his residence in Holy- 
rood, where he remained until August, 1799. 
When again driven from his country by the 
Revolution of July, 1830, the same unfortunate 
prince, with all the immediate members of his 
family, sought refuge once more in the ancient 
palace of the Stuarts, and remained there until 
i8th September, 1832. 



CANTO FIFTH. 

1. The cloth-yard arrows, ^tz. This is no po- 
etical exaggeration. In some of the counties 
of England, distinguished for archery, shafts of 
this extraordinary length were actually used. 
Thus, at the battle of Blackheath, between the 
troops of Henry VII. and the Cornish insur- 
gents, in 1496, the bridge of Dartford was de- 
fended by a picked band of archers from the 
rebel army, " whose arrows," says Holinshed, 
"were in length a full cloth yard." The Scot- 
tish, according to Ascham, had a proverb, that 
every English archer carried under his belt 
twenty-four Scots, in allusion to his bundle of 
unerring shafts. 

2. The hardy burghers. The Scottish bur- 
gesses were, like yeomen, appointed to be armed 
with bows and sheaves, sword, buckler, knife, 
spear, or a good axe instead of a bow, if worth 
;^ioo; their armor to be of white or bright 
harness. They wore lohite hats ; that is, bright 
steel caps, without crest or visor. By an act 
of James IV., their -cueapoti-schawings are ap- 
pointed to be held four times a year, under the 
aldermen or bailiffs. 



M ARM I ON. 



591 



3. His arvis were halbert, axe, or spear, etc. 
Bows and quivers were in vain recommended 
to the peasantry of Scotland, by repeated stat- 
utes ; spears and axes seem universally to have 
been used instead of them. Their defensive 
armor was the plate-jack, hauberk, or brigan- 
tine ; and their missile weapons cross-bows and 
culverins. All wore swords of excellent tem- 
per, according to Patten ; and a voluminous 
handkerchief round their neck, "not for cold, 
but for cutting." The mace also was much 
used in the Scottish army. When the feudal 
array of the kingdom was called forth, each 
man was obliged to appear with forty days' 
provision. When this was expended, which 
took place before the battle of Flodden, the 
army melted away of course. Almost all the 
Scottish forces, except a few knights, men-at- 
arms, and the Border-prickers, who formed 
excellent light cavalry, acted upon foot. 

9. His iron belt. Few readers need to be re- 
minded of this belt, to the weight of which 
James added certain ounces every year that he 
lived. Pitscottie founds his belief that James 
was not slain in the battle of Flodden, because 
the English never had this token of the iron 
belt to show to any Scottishman. The person 
and character of James are delineated accord- 
ing to our best historians. His romantic dis- 
position, which led him highly to relish gayety 
approaching to license, was, at the same time, 
tinged with enthusiastic devotion. The pro- 
pensities sometimes' formed a strange contrast. 
He was wont, during his fits of devotion, to 
assume the dress, and conform to the rules, of 
the order of Franciscans ; and when he had 
thus done penance for some time in Stirling, to 
plunge again into the tide of pleasure. Prob- 
ably, too, with no unusual inconsistency, he 
sometimes laughed at the superstitious observ- 
ances to which he at other times subjected 
himself. 

10. O' er James' s heart, etc. It has been al- 
ready noticed that King James's acquaintance 
with Lady Heron of Ford did not commence 
until he marched into England. Our historians 
impute to the king's infatuated passion the 
delays which led to the fatal defeat of Flodden. 
The author of The Gcnealosiy of the Heron Fam- 
ily endeavors, with laudable anxiety, to clear 
the Lady Ford from this scandal : that she 
came and went, however, between the armies 
of James and Surrey, is certain. 

10. For the fair Queen of France, etc. " Also 
the Queen of France wrote a love-letter to the 
King of Scotland, calling him her love, showing 
him that she had suffered much rebuke in 
France for the defending of his honor. She 
believed surely that he would recompense her 
again with some of his kingly support in her 
necessity; that is to say, that he would raise 
her an army, and come three foot of ground on 
English ground, for her sake. To that effect 
she sent him a ring off her finger, with fourteen 
thousand French crowns to pay his expenses" 
(Pitscottie, p. no). 

14. Archibald Bell-the-Cat. Archibald Doug- 



las, Earl of Angus, a man remarkable for strength 
of bftdy and mind, acquired the popular name 
of Beli-f he-Cat upon the following remarkable 
occasion : James the Third, of whom Pitscottie 
complains that he delighted more in music and 
"policies of building," than in hunting, hawking, 
and other noble exercises, was so ill advised as 
to make favorites of his architects and musi- 
cians, whom the same historian irreverently 
terms masons and fiddlers. His nobility, who 
did not sympathize in the king's respect for the 
fine arts, were extremely incensed at the honors 
conferred on those persons, particularly on 
Cochran, a mason, who had been created Earl 
of Mar ; and seizing the opportunity, when, in 
14S2, the king had convoked the whole array 
of the country to march against the English, 
they held a midnight council in the church of 
Lauder, for the purpose of forcibly removing 
these minions from the king's person. When 
all had agreed on the propriety of this measure. 
Lord Gray told the assembly the apologue of 
the Mice, who had formed a resolution that it 
would be highly advantageous to their commu- 
nity to tie a bell round the cat's neck, that they 
might hear her approach at a distance ; but 
which public measure unfortunately miscarried, 
from no mouse being willing to undertake the 
task of fastening the bell. " I understand the 
moral," said Angus, " and, that what we propose 
may not lack execution, I will bell the cat." 

14. And chafed his royal lord. Angus was 
an old man when the war against England was 
resolved upon. He earnestly spoke against 
that measure from its commencement, and, on 
the eve of the battle of Flodden, remonstrated 
so freely upon the impolicy of fighting, that the 
king said to him, with scorn and indignation, 
"if he was afraid, he might go home." The 
earl burst into tears at this insupportable in- 
sult, and retired accordingly, leaving his sons, 
George, Master of Angus, and Sir William of 
Glenbervie, to command his followers. They 
were both slain in the battle, with twcj hundred 
gentlemen of the name of Douglas. The aged 
earl, broken-hearted at the calamities of his 
house and his country, retired into a religious 
house, where he died about a year after the 
field of Flodden. 

15. Tantallon Hold. The ruins of Tantal- 
lon Castle occupy a high rock projecting into 
the German Ocean, about two miles east of 
North Berwick. The building is not seen till 
a close approach, as there is rising ground be- 
twixt it and the land. The circuit is of large 
extent, fenced upon three sides by the precipice 
which overhangs the sea, and on the fourth by 
a double ditch and very strong outworks. Tan- 
tallon was a principal castle of the Douglas 
family, and when the Earl of Angus was ban- 
ished, in 1527, it continued to hold out against 
James V. The king was forced to raise the 
siege, and only afterwards obtained possession 
of Tantallon by treaty with the governor, Sim- 
eon Panango. When the Earl of Angus re- 
turned from banishment, upon the death of 
James, he again obtained possession of Tan- 



592 



NOTES. 



tallon, and it actually afforded refuge to an 
English ambassador, under circumstances simi- 
lar to those described in the text. This was no 
other than the celebrated Sir Ralph Sadler, 
who resided there for some time under Angus's 
protection, after the failure of his negotiation 
for matching the infant Mary with Edward VI. 

15. He 7vears their motto, etc. A very an- 
cient sword, in possession of Lord Douglas, 
bears, among a great deal of flourishing, two 
hands pointing to a heart, which is placed be- 
twixt them, and the date 1329, being the year 
in which Bruce charged the Good Lord Doug- 
las to carry his heart to the Holy Land. 

21. Martin Swart. A German general who 
commanded the auxiliaries sent by the Duchess 
of Burgundy with Lambert Simnel. He was 
defeated and killed at Stokefield. His name is 
preserved by that of the field of battle, which 
is called, after him, Swart-moor. 

25. Diui-Ediiis Cross, etc. The Cross of 
Edinburgh was an ancient and curious struc- 
ture. The lower part was an octagonal tower, 
sixteen feet in diameter, and about fifteen feet 
high. At each angle there was a pillar, and 
between them an arch, of the Grecian shape. 
Above these was a projecting battlement, with 
a turret»at each corner, and medallions, of rude 
but curio^is workmanship, between them. Above 
this rose the proper Cross, a column of one 
stone, upwards of twenty feet high, surmounted 
with an unicorn. This pillar is preserved at the 
House of Drum, near Edinburgh. The Magis- 
trates of Edinburgh, in 1756, with consent of 
the Lords of Session [proJi ptidor !), destroyed 
this curious monument, under a want(jn pretext 
that it encumbered the street. [Since the above 
was written the shaft of the old Cross has been 
set up within the railings of St. Giles's Church, 
very near its original site. W. J. R.] 

25. TJiis awful siiniinons came. This super- 
natural citation is mentioned by all our Scottish 
historians. It was, probably, like the appari- 
tion at Linlithgow, an attempt, by those averse 
to the war, to impose upon the superstitious 
temper of James IV. 

29. A vene7-ahle pile- The convent alluded to 
is a foundation of Cistercian nuns near North 
Berwick, of which there are still some remains. 
It was founded by Duncan, Earl of Fife, in 
1216. 

31. Drove the monks forth of Coventry, etc. 
This relates to the catastrophe of a real Robert 
de Marmion, in the reign of King Stephen, 
whom William of Newbury describes with some 
attributes of my fictitious hero. '■'■ Homo belli- 
C0S2IS, ferocia et asliicia fere 7inllo suo tempore 
impar." This baron, having expelled the monks 
from the church of Coventry, was not long of 
experiencing the divine judgment, as the same 
monks, no doubt, termed his disaster. Having 
waged a feudal war with the Earl of Chester, 
Marmion's horse fell, as he charged in the van 
of his troop, against a body of the earl's fol- 
lowers : the ricier's thigh being broken by the 
fall, his head was cut off by a connnon foot- 
soldier, ere he could receive any succor. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. 

The savage Dane, etc. The lol of the heathen 
Danes (a word still applied to Christmas in 
Scotland) was solemnized with great festivity. 
The humor of the Danes at table displayed it- 
self in pelting each other with bones ; and Tor- 
faeus tells a long and curious story, in the history 
of Hrolfe Kraka, of one Hottus, an inmate of 
the Court of Denmark, who was so generally 
assailed with these missiles that he constructed, 
out of the bones with which he was over- 
whelmed, a very respectable entrenchment 
against those who continued the raillery. The 
dances of the Northern warriors round the great 
fires of pine-trees are commemorated by Olaus 
Magnus, who says they danced with such fury, 
holding each other by the hands, that if the 
grasp of any failed, he was pitched into the 
fire with the velocity of a sling. The sufferer 
on such occasions was instantly plucked out, 
and obliged to quaff off a certain measure of 
ale, as a penalty for " spoiling the king's fire." 

Their mumming, etc. It seems certain that 
the Mummers of England who (in Northumber- 
land at least) used to go about in disguise to 
the neighboring houses, bearing the then use- 
less ploughshare ; and the Gnisards of Scotland, 
not yet in total disuse, present, in some indis- 
tinct degree, a shadow of the old mysteries, 
which were the origin of the English drama. 
In Scotland {ine ipso teste), we were wont, dur- 
ing my boyhood, to take the characters of the 
apostles, at least of Peter, Paul, and Judas Is- 
cariot, which last carried the bag, in which the 
dole of our neighbor's plum-cake was deposited. 
(Jne played a Champion, and recited some tra- 
ditional rhymes ; another was 

" Alexander, king of Macedon, 
Who conquered all the world but .Scotland alone; 
When he came to Scotland his courage grew cold, 
To see a little nation courageous and bold." 

These, and many such verses, were repeated, 
but by rote, and unconnectedly. There was 
also occasionally, I believe, a Saint George. 
In all there was a confused resemblance of the 
ancient mysteries, in which the characters of 
Scripture, the Nine Worthies, and other popu- 
lar personages were usually exhibited. 

The Highlander, etc. The Daoine shi\ or 
Men of Peace, of the Scottish Highlanders, 
rather resemble the Scandinavian Duergar than 
the English Fairies. Notwithstanding their 
name, they are, if not absolutely malevolent, at 
least peevish, discontented, and apt to do mis- 
chief on slight provocation. The belief of 
their existence is deeply impressed on the High- 
landers, who think they are particularly of- 
fended with mortals who talk of them, who 
wear their favorite color green, or in any re- 
spect interfere with their affairs. This is par- 
ticularly to be avoided on Friday, when, whether 
as dedicated to Venus, with whom, in Germany, 
this subterraneous people arc held nearly con- 
nected, or for a more solemn reason, they are 
more active, and possessed of greater power. 



MARMION. 



593 



The Towers of Franchhuoiit. The journal of 
the friend to whom the Fourth Canto of the 
Poem is inscribed, furnished me with the fol- 
lowing account of a striking superstition : — 

" Passed the pretty little village of Franche- 
mont (near Spaw), with the romantic ruins of 
the old castle of the Counts of that name. 
The road leads through many delightful vales, 
on a rising ground ; at the extremity of one of 
them stands the ancient castle, now the subject 
of many superstitious legends. It is firmly be- 
lieved by the neighboring peasantry, that the 
last Baron of Franchemont deposited, in one of 
the vaults of the castle, a ponderous chest, con- 
taining an immense treasure in gold and silver, 
which, by some magic spell, was intrusted to 
the care of the Devil, who is constantly found 
sitting on the chest in the shape of a huntsman. 
Any one adventurous enough to touch the chest 
is instantly seized with the palsy. Upon one 
occasion a priest of noted piety was brought 
to the vault : he used all the arts of e.xorcism 
to persuade his infernal majesty to vacate his 
seat, but in vain ; the huntsman remained im- 
movable. At last, moved by the earnestness 
of the priest, he told him that he would agree 
to resign the chest if the exorcisor would sign 
his name with blood. But the priest under- 
stood his meaning and refused, as by that act 
he would have delivered over his soul to the 
Devil. Yet if anybody can discover the mystic 
words used by the person who deposited the 
treasure, and pronounce them, the fiend must 
instantly decamp. I had many stories of a 
similar nature from a peasant, who had himself 
seen the Devil, in the shape of a great cat." 



CANTO SIXTH. 

II. A bishop. The well-known Ga wain Doug- 
las, Bishop of Dunkeld, son of Archibald Bell- 
the-cat, Earl of Angus. He was author of 
a Scottish metrical version of the yEneid, and 
of many other poetical pieces of great merit. 
He had not at this period attained the mitre. 

II. The huge and sweejpiiig brand, etc. Angus 
had strength and personal activity correspond- 
ing to his courage. Spens of Kilspindie, a 
favorite of James IV., having spoken of him 
lightly, the earl met him while hawking, and 
compelling him to single combat, at one blow 
cut asunder his thigh-bone and killed him on 
the spot. But ere he could obtain James's 
pardon for this slaughter, Angus was obliged 
to yield his castle of Hermitage, in exchange 
for that of Bothwell, which was some diminu- 
tion to the family greatness. The sword with 
which he struck so remarkable a blow was pre- 
sented by his descendant, T^mes, Earl of Mor- 
ton, afterwards Regent of Scotland, to Lord 
Lindesay of the Byres, when he defied Both- 
well to single combat on Carberrvhill. 

14. Fierce he broke forth, qXc. This ebullition 
of violence in the potent Earl of Angus is not 



without its examples in the real history of the 
house of Douglas, whose chieftains possessed 
the ferocity with the heroic virtues of a savage 
state. The most curious instance occurred in 
the case of Maclellan, tutor of Bomby, who, 
having refused to acknowledge the pre-emi- 
nence claimed by Douglas over the gentlemen 
and Barons of Galloway, was seized and impris- 
oned by the earl, in his castle of the Thrieve, 
on the borders of Kirkcudbright-shire. Sir 
Patrick Gray, commander of King James the 
Second's guard, was uncle to the tutor of 
Bomby, and obtained from the king " a sweet 
letter of supplication," praying the earl to de- 
liver his prisoner into Gray's hand. When Sir 
Patrick arrived at the castle, he was received 
with all the honor due to a favorite servant of 
the king's household; but while he was at din- 
ner, the earl, who suspected his errand, caused 
his prisoner to be led forth and beheaded. 
After dinner, Sir Patrick presented the king's 
letter to the earl, who received it with great 
affectation of reverence ; " and took him by the 
hand, and led him forth to the green, where the 
gentleman was lying dead, and showed him 
the manner, and said, ' Sir Patrick, you are 
come a little too late ; yonder is your sister's son 
lying, but he wants the head : take his body, and 
do with it what you will.' Sir Patrick answered 
again with a sore heart, and said, ' Mv lord, if 
ye have taken from him his head, dispone upon 
the body as ye please : ' and with that called 
for his horse, and leaped thereon ; and when 
he was on horseback, he said to the earl on this 
manner, ' My lord, if I live, you shall be re- 
warded for your labors, that you have used at 
this time, according to your demerits.' At this 
saying the earl was highly offended, and cried 
for horse. Sir Patrick, seeing the earl's fury, 
spurred his horse, but he was chased near 
Edinburgh ere they left him : and had it not 
been his lead horse was so tried and good, he 
had been taken" (Pitscottie's History). 

19. By Twisel Bridge. On the evening pre- 
vious to the memorable battle of Flodden, .Sur- 
rey's head-quarters were at Barmore-wood, and 
King Jamgs held an inaccessible position on 
the ridge of Flodden-hill, one of the last and 
lowest eminences detached from the ridge of 
Cheviot. The Till, a deep and slow river, 
winded between the armies. On the morning 
of the 9th September, 1513, Surrey marched in 
a northwesterly direction, and crossed the Till, 
with his van and artillery, at Twisel-bridge, 
nigh where that river joins the Tweed, his rear- 
guard column passing about a uaile higher, by 
a ford. 

24. Brian Tinistall. Sir Brian Tunstall, 
called, iii the romantic language of the time, 
Tunstall the Undefiled, was one of the few 
Englishmen of rank slain at Flodden. He 
figures in the ancient English poem, to which 
1 may safely refer my reader ; as an edition, 
with full explanatory notes, has been published 
by my friend Mr. Henry Weber. Tunstall 
perhaps derived his epithet of undefiled from 
his white armor and banner, the latter bearing 



■ 38 



594 



NOTES. 



;i white cock about to crow, as well as from his 
unstained loyalty and knightly faith. 

35. And fell oti Flodden plain. There can be 
no doubt that King James fell in the battle of 
Flodden. He was killed, says the curious 
French Gazette, within a lance's length of the 
Earl of Surrey ; and the same account adds, 
that none of his division were made prisoners, 
though many were killed, — a circumstance that 
testifies the desperation of their resistance. 
The Scottish historians record many of the 
idle reports which passed among the vulgar of 
their day. Home was accused, by the popular 
voice, not only of failing to support the king 
but even of having carried him out of the field, 
and murdered him. Other reports gave a still 
more romantic turn to the king's fate, and 
averred that James,, weary of greatness after 
the carnage among his nobles, had gone on a 
pilgrimage, to merit absolution for the death 
of his father and the breach of his oath of 



amity to Henry. Stowe has recorded a de- 
grading story of the disgrace with which the re- 
mains of the unfortunate monarch were treated 
in his time. An unhewn column marks the 
spot where James fell, still called the King's 
Stone. 

36. When fanatic Brook, etc. This storm of 
Lichfield Cathedral, which had been garrisoned 
on the part of the king, took place in the great 
civil war. Lord Brook, who, with Sir John 
Gill, commanded the assailants, was shot with 
a musket-ball through the visor of his helmet. 
The royalists remarked that he was killed by a 
shot fired from Saint Chad's Cathedral, and upon 
Saint Chad's Day, and received his death-wound 
in the very eye with which he had said he hoped 
to see the ruin of all the cathedrals in England. 
The magnificent church in question suffered 
cruelly upon this and other occasions; the 
principal spire being ruined by the fire of the 
besiegers. 



dje Hatjp of ti)e Lake, 



The Lady of the Lake was first published in 
1 810, when Scott was thirty-nine. In 1S30 the 
following " Introduction " was prefi.xed to the 
poem by the author : — 

" After the success of Marmion, I felt inclined 
to exclaim with Ulysses in the Odyssey : — 

OCtos y.iv fir; aeflAos daaro? tKrereAecrTai" 
NCv avTe UKonov oiAAoi'. 

Odys. X. 5. 

" ' One venturous game my hand lias won to-day — 
Another, gallants, yet remains to play.' 

"The ancient manners, the habits and cus- 
toms of the aboriginal race by whom the High- 
lands of Scotland were inhabited, had always 
appeared to me peculiarly adapted to poetry. 
The change in their manners, too, had taken 
place almost within my own time, or at least I 
had learned many particulars concerning the 
ancient state of the Highlands from the old 
men of the last generation. I had always 
thought the old Scottish Gael highly adapted 
for poetical composition. The feuds and politi- 
cal dissensions which, half a century earlier, 
would have rendered the richer and wealthier 
part of the kingdom indisi:iosed to countenance 
a poem, the scene of which was laid in the 
Highlands, were now sunk in the generous 
compassion which the English, more than any 
other nation, feel for the misfortunes of an 
honorable foe. The Poems of Ossian had by 
their popularity sufficiently shown that if writ- 
ings on Highland subjects were qualified to 
interest the reader, mere national prejudices 
were, in the present day, very unlikely to inter- 
fere with their success. 



" I had also read a great deal, seen much, and 
heard more, of that romantic country where I 
was in the habit of spending some time every 
autumn ; and the scenery of Loch Katrine was 
connected with the recollection of many a dear 
friend and merry expedition of former days. 
This poem, the action of which lay among 
scenes so beautiful and so deeply imprinted on 
my recollections, was a labor of love, and it 
was no less so to recall the manners- and in- 
cidents introduced. The frequent custom of 
James IV., and particularly of James V., to 
walk through their kingdom in disguise, af- 
forded me the hint of an incident which never 
fails to be interesting if managed with the 
slightest address or dexterity. 

"I may now confess, however, that the employ- 
ment, though attended with great pleasure, was 
not without its doubts and anxieties. A lady, 
to whom I was nearly related, and with whom 
I lived, during her whole life, on the most 
brotherly terms of affection, was residing with 
me at the time when the work was in progress, 
and used to ask me what I could possibly do to 
rise so early in the morning (that happening to 
be the most convenient to me for composition). 
At last I told her the subject of my meditations ; 
and I can never forget the anxiety and affection 
expressed in her reply- ' Do not be so rash,' 
she said, 'my dearest cousin. You are already 
])opular, — -more so, perhaps, than you yourself 
will believe, or than even I, or other partial 
friends, can fairly allow to your merit. You 
stand high, — do not rashly attempt to climb 
higher, and incur the risk of a fall ; for, depend 
upon it, a favorite will not be permitted even 
to stumble with impunity.' I replied to this 



THE LADY' OF THE LAKE. 



595 



affectionate expostulation in the words of 
Montrose, — 

" He either fears his fate too much, 
Or his deserts are small, 
Who dares not put i' to the touch 
To gain or lose it all." 

" ' If I fail,' I said, for the dialogue is strong 
in my recollection, ' it is a sign that I ought 
never to have succeeded, and I will write prose 
for life : you shall see no change in my temper, 
nor will I eat a single meal the worse. But if 
I succeed, 

'' Up with the bonnie blue bonnet, 
The dirk, and the feather, and a' I " ' 

" Afterwards I showed my affectionate and 
anxious critic the first canto of the poem, which 
reconciled her to my imprudence. Neverthe- 
less, although I answered thus confidently, with 
the obstinacy often said to be proper to those 
who bear my surnaine, I acknowledge that my 
confidence was considerably shaken by the 
warning of her excellent taste and unbiassed 
friendship. Nor was I much comforted by her 
retractation of the unfavorable judgment, when 
I recollected how likely a natural partiality was 
to effect that change of opinion. In such cases 
affection rises like a light on 'the canvas, im- 
proves any favorable tints which it formerly 
exhibited, and throws its defects into the 
shade. 

" I remember that about the same time a 
friend started in to ' heeze up my hope,' like the 
' sportsman with his cutty gun,' in the old 
song. He was bred a farmer, but a man of 
powerful understanding, natural good taste, and 
warm poetical feeling, perfectly competent to 
supply the wants of an imperfect or irregular 
education. He was a passionate admirer of 
field-sports, which we often pursued together. 

" As this friend happened to dine with me at 
Ashestiel one day, I took the opportunity of 
reading to him the first canto of The Lady of the 
Lake, in order to ascertain the effect the poem 
was likely to produce upon a person who was 
but too favorable a representative of readers at 
large. It is of course to be supposed that I 
determined rather to guide my opinion by 
what my friend might appear to feel, than by 
what he might think fit to say. His reception 
of my recitation, or prelection, was rather singu- 
lar. He placed his hand across his brow, and 
listened with great attention through the whole 
account of the stag-hunt, till the dogs threw 
themselves into the lake to follow their master, 
who embarks with Ellen Douglas. He then 
started up with a sudden exclamation, struck 
his hand on the table, and declared, in a voice 
of censure calculated for the occasion, that the 
dogs must have been totally ruined by being 
permitted to take the water after such a severe 
chase. I own I was much encouraged by the 
species of revery which had possessed so zealous 
a follower of the sports of the ancient Nimrod, 
who had been completely surprised out of all 



doubts of the reality of the talc. Another of 
his remarks gave me less pleasure. He de- 
tected the identity of the king with the wander- 
ing knight, Fitz-James, when he winds his bugle 
to summon his attendants. He was probably 
thinking of the lively, but somewhat licentious, 
old ballad, in which the denouement oi a royal 
intrigue takes place as follows : — 

" ' He took a bugle frae his side. 
He blew both loud and shrill, 
And four and twenty belted knights 

Came skipping ower the hill ; 
Then he took out a little knife, 

Let a' his duddies fa'. 
And he was the brawest gentleman 
That was amang them a'. 

And we '11 go no more a roving,' etc 

" This discovery, as Mr. Pepys says of the 
rent in his camlet cloak, was but a trifle, yet it 
troubled me ; and I was at a good deal of pains 
to efface any marks by which I thought my 
secret could be traced before the conclusion, 
when I relied on it with the same hope of pro- 
ducing effect, with which the Irish post-boy is 
said to reserve a ' trot for the avenue.' 

" I took uncommon pains to verify the accu- 
racy of the local circumstances of this story. I 
recollect, in particular, that to ascertain whether 
I was telling a probable tale I Went into Perth- 
shire, to see whether King James could actually 
have ridden from the banks of Loch Vennachar 
to Stirling Castle within the time supposed in 
the poem, and had the pleasure to satisfy my- 
self that it was quite practicable. 

" After a considerable delay, The Lady of the 
Lake appeared in June, iSio; and its success 
was certainly so extraordinary as to induce me 
for the inoment to conclude that I had at last 
fixed a nail in the proverbially inconstant wheel 
of Fortune, whose stability in behalf of an indi- 
vidual who had so boldly courted her favors for 
three successive times had not as yet been 
shaken. I had attained, perhaps, that degree 
of reputation at which prudence, or certainly 
timidity, would have made a halt, and discon- 
tinued efforts by which I was far more likely to 
diminish my fame than to increase it. But, as 
the celebrated John Wilkes is said to have 
explained to his late Majesty, that he himself, 
amid his full tide of popularity, was never a 
Wilkite, so I can, with honest truth, exculpate 
myself from having been at any time a partisan 
of my own poetry, even when it was in the_ 
highest fashion with the million. It must not 
be supposed that I was either so ungrateful or 
so superabundantly candid as to despise or 
scorn the value of those whose voice had ele- 
vated me so much higher than my own opinion 
told me I deserved. I felt, on the contrary, 
the more grateful to the public, as receiving 
that from partiality to me, which I could not 
have claimed from merit; and I endeavored 
to deserve the partiality by continuing such 
exertions as I was capable of for their amuse- 
ment. 

" It may be that I did not, in this continued 
course of scribbling, consult either the interest 



596 



NOTES. 



of the public or my own. But the former had 
effectual means of defending themselves, and 
could, by their coldness, sufficiently check any 
approach to intrusion ; and for myself, I had 
now for several years dedicated my hours so 
much to literary labor that I should have felt 
difficulty in employing myself otherwise ; and 
so, like Dogberry, I generously bestowed all 
my tediousness on the public, comforting my- 
self with the reflection that, if posterity should 
think me undeserving of the favor with which 
I was regarded by my contemporaries, ' they 
could not but say I had the crown,' and had 
enjoyed for a time that popularity which is so 
much coveted. 

" I conceived, however, that I held the distin- 
guished situation I had obtained, however un- 
worthily, rather like the champion of pugilism, 
on the condition of being always ready to show 
proofs of my skill, than in the manner of the 
champion of chivalry, who performs his duties 
only on rare and solemn occasions. I was in any 
case conscious that I could not long hold a situa- 
tion which the caprice rather than the judgment 
of the public had bestowed upon me, and pre- 
ferred being deprived of my precedence by some 
more worthy rival, to sinking into contempt for 
my indolence, and losing my reputation by what 
Scottish lawyers call the negative prescription. 
Accordingly, those who choose to look at the 
Introduction to Rokeby, will be able to trace 
the steps by which I declined as a poet to 
figure as a novelist ; as the ballad says, Queen 
Eleanor sunk at Charing Cross to rise again at 
Queenhithe. 

" It only remains for me to say that, during 
my short pre-eminence of popularity, I faithfully 
observed the rules of moderation which I had 
resolved to follow before I began my course as 
a man of letters. If a man is determined to 
make a noise in the world, he is as sure to en- 
counter abuse and ridicule, as he who gallops 
furiously through a village must reckon on be- 
ing followed by the curs in full cry. E.xperi- 
enced persons know that in stretching to flog 
the latter, the rider is very apt to catch a bad 
fall ; nor is an attempt to chastise a malignant 
critic attended with less danger to the author. 
On this principle, I let parody, burlesque, and 
squibs find their own level ; and while the latter 
hissed most fiercely, I was cautious never to 
catch them up, as schoolboys do, to throw them 
back against the naughty boy who fired them 
off, wisely remembering that they are in such 
cases apt to e.xplode in the handling. Let me 
add that my reign (since Byron has so called it) 
was marked by some instances of good-nature 
as well as patience. I never refused a literary 
person of merit such services in smoothing his 
way to the public as were in my power; and 
I had the advantage — rather an uncommon 
one with our irritable race — to enjoy general 
favor without incurring permanent ill-will, 
so far as is known to me, among any of my 
contemporaries. 

" Abbotsford, April, 1830." 



CANTO FIRST. 

2. Uam-var. Ua-Var, as the name is pro- 
nounced, or more properly Uaigh-mor. is a 
mountain to the northeast of the village of 
Callander, in Menteith, deriving its name, which 
signifies the great den, or cavern, from a sort of 
retreat among the rocks on the south side, said, 
by tradition, to have been the abode of a giant. 
In latter times it was the refuge of robbers and 
banditti, who have been only extirpated within 
these forty or fifty years. Strictly speaking, 
this stronghold is not a cave, as the name would 
imply, but a sort of small enclosure, or recess, 
surrounded with large rocks and open above 
head. 

7. Saint Hubet-t's breed. Scott quotes Tuber- 
vile here : " The hounds which we call Saint 
Hubert's hounds are commonly all blacke, yet 
neuertheless, the race is so mingled at these 
days, that we find them of aU colours. These 
are the hounds which the abbots of St. Hubert 
haue always kept some of their race or kind, in 
honour or remembrance of the saint, which was 
a hunter with S. Eustace. Whereupon we may 
conceiue that (by the grace of God) all good 
huntsmen shall follow them into paradise." 

8. /"'or the death-ivoiind, etc. When the stag 
turned to bay, the ancient hunter had the peril- 
ous task of going in upon, and killing or dis- 
abling, the desperate animal. At certain times 
of the year this was held particularly dangerous, 
a wound received from a stag's horn being then 
deemed poisonous, and more dangerous than 
one from the tusks of a boar, as the old rhyme 
testifies : — 

" If thou be hurt with hart, it brings thee to thy bier, 
But barber's hand will boar's hurt heal, therefore thou 
need'st not fear." 

At all times, however, the task was dangerous, 
and to be adventured upon wisely and warily, 
either by getting behind the stag while he was 
gazing on the hounds, or by watching an oppor- 
tunity to gallop roundly in upon him and kill 
him with the sword. 

14. A7id J107U, to issue from the glen, etc. Until 
the present road was made through the roman- 
tic ]3ass which I have presumptuously attempted 
to describe in the preceding stanzas, there was 
no mode of issuing out of the defile called the 
Trosachs, excepting by a sort of ladder, com- 
posed of the branches and roots of trees. 

16. Highland plunderers. The clans who in- 
habited the romantic regions in the neighbor- 
hood of Loch Katrine were, even until a late 
period, much addicted to predatory excursions 
upon their Lowland neighbors. 

23. A gray-haired sire, etc. If force of evi- 
dence could authorize us to believe facts incon- 
sistent with the general laws of nature, enou^ 
might be produced in favor of the existence of 
the second-sight. It is called in Gaelic Taishi- 
tarangh, from Taish, an unreal or shadowy ap- 
pearance ; and those possessed of the faculty 
are called laishatrin, which may be aptly 
translated visionaries. Martin, a steady be- 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



597 



liever in the second-siEfht, ^ives the follovvinsr 
account or it : — 

"The second-sight is a singular faculty of 
seeing an otherwise invisible object without 
any previous means used by the person that 
uses it for that end : the vision makes such a 
lively impression upon the seers', that they 
neither see nor think of anything else, except 
the vision, as long as it continues; and then 
they appear pensive or jovial, according to the 
object that was represented to them. 

"At the sight of a vision, the eyelids of the 
person are erected, and the eyes continue star- 
ing until the object vanish. This is obvious to 
others who are by when the persons happen 
to see a vision, and occurred more than once 
to my own observation, and to others that were 
with me. ... 

" If a vv^oman is seen standing at a man's left 
hand, it is a presage that she will be his wife, 
whether they be married' to others, or unmar- 
ried at the time of the apparition. 

" To see a s]Dark of fire fall upon one's arm 
or breast is a forerunner of a dead child to be 
seen in the arms of those persons ; of which 
there are several fresh instances. . . . 

"To see a seat empty at the time of one's 
sitting in it is a presage of that person's death 
soon after " (Martin's Description of the Western 
Islands. 17 16, Svo, p. 300 et seq.). 

To these particulars innumerable examples 
might be added, all attested by grave and credi- 
ble authors. But, in despite of evidence which 
neither Bacon, Boyle, nor Johnson was able to 
resist, the Taish, with all its visionary proper- 
ties, seems to be now universally abandoned to 
the use of poetry. The exquisitely beautiful 
poem of Loc/iiel will at once occur to the recol- 
lection of every reader. 

25. Here for retreat in dangerous hour, etc. 
The Celtic chieftains, whose lives were con- 
tinually exposed to ]5eril, had usuallv, in the 
most retired spot of their domains, some place 
of retreat for the hour of necessity, which, as 
circumstances would admit, was a tower, a cav- 
ern, or a rustic hut, in a strong and secluded 
situation. One of these last gave refuge to the 
unfortunate Charles Edward, in his perilous 
wanderings after the battle of Culloden. 

28. Ferragus or Ascabart. These two sons 
of Anak flourished in romantic fable. The first 
is well known to the admirers of Ariosto by the 
name of Ferrau. He was an antagonist of Or- 
lando, and was at length slain by him in single 
combat. . . . Ascapart, or Ascabart, makes a 
very material figure in the History of Bevis of 
Hampton, by whom he was conquered. His 
efiigies may be seen guarding one side of the 
gate at Southampton, while the other is occu- 
pied by Bevis himself. 

29. Though all unasked his birth and name. 
The Highlanders, who carried hospitality to a 
punctilious excess, are said to have considered 
it as churlish to ask a stranger his name or line- 
age before he had taken refreshment. Feuds 
were so frequent among them, that a contrary 
rule would in many cases have produced the 



discovery of some circumstance which might 
have excluded the guest from the benefit of the 
assistance he stood in need of. 



CANTO SECOND. 

I. A tninstrel gray- Highland chieftains, to 
a late period, retained in their service the bard, 
as a family officer. 

6. The Grceme. The ancient and powerful 
family of Graham (which, for metrical reasons, 
is here spelled after the Scottish pronuncia- 
tion) held extensive possessions in the counties 
of Dumbarton and Stirling. Few families can 
boast of more historical renown, having claim 
to three of the most remarkable characters in 
the Scottish annals. Sir John the Graeme, the 
faithful and undaunted partaker of the labors 
and patriotic warfare of Wallace, fell in the 
unfortunate field of Falkirk, in 1298. The cele- 
brated Marquis of Montrose, in whom De Retz 
saw realized his abstract idea of the heroes of 
antiquity, was the second of these worthies. 
And, notwithstanding the severity of his tem- 
per, and the rigor with which he executed the 
oppressive mandates of the princes whom he 
served, I do not hesitate to name as the third, 
John Graeme, of Claverhouse, Viscount of Dun- 
dee, whose heroic death, in the arms of victory, 
may be allowed to cancel the memory of his 
cruelty to the non-conformists, during the reigns 
of Charles H. and James II. 

7. Saint Modan. I am not prepared to show 
that Saint Modan was a performer on the harp. 
It was, however, no unsaintly accomplishment; 
for Saint Dunstan certainly did play upon that 
instrument, which retaining, as was natural, a 
portion of the sanctity attached to its master's 
character, announced future events by its spon- 
taneous sound. 

8. Ere Douglases, to rzcin driven. The down- 
fall of the Douglases of the house of Angus, 
during the reign of James V., is the event al- 
luded to in the text. 

12. In Holy- Rood a knight he slew. This was 
by no means an uncommon occurrence in the 
Court of Scotland ; nay, the presence of the 
sovereign himself scarcely restrained the fero- 
cious and inveterate feuds which were the per- 
petual source of bloodshed among the Scottish 
nobility. 

1 2. The Douglas, like a stricken deer, etc. The 
exiled state of this powerful race is not exag- 
gerated in this and subsequent passages. The 
hatred of James against the race of Douglas 
was so inveterate, that numerous as their allies 
were, and disregarded as the regal authority 
had usually been in similar cases, their nearest 
friends, even in the most remote part of Scot- 
land, durst not entertain them, unless under the 
strictest and closest disguise. 

13. Afaronnan's cell. The parish of ICil- 
maronock, at the eastern extremity of Loch Lo- 
mond, derives its name from a cell, or chapel, 
dedicated to Saint Maronock, or Marnock, or 



598 



A'OTES. 



Maronnan, about whose sanctity very little is 
now remembered. 

14. Bi'iickiimi's thtinderiiig wave. This beau- 
tiful cascade is on the Keltic, a mile from Cal- 
lander. The height of the fall is about fifty feet. 

15. Tine-man. Archibald, the third Earl of 
Douglas, was so unfortunate in all his enter- 
prises, that he acquired the epithet of " tine- 
man," because he fined, or lost, his followers in 
every battle which he fought. He was van- 
quished, as every reader must remember, in the 
bloody battle of Iloniildon-hill, near Wooler, 
where he himself lost an eye, and was made 
prisoner by Hotspur. He was no less unfor- 
tunate when allied with Percy, being wounded 
and taken at the battle of Shrewsbury., He 
was so unsuccessful in an attempt to besiege 
Roxburgh Castle, that it was called the " Foul 
Raid," or disgraceful expedition. His ill for- 
tune left him indeed at the battle of Beauge, in 
France ; but it was only to return with double 
emphasis at the subsequent action of Vernoil, 
the last and most unlucky of his encounters, in 
which he fell, with the flower of the Scottish 
chivalry, then serving as auxiliaries in France, 
and about two thousand common soldiers, 
A. D. 1424. 

15. Did, sclf-7inscaf>barded, cic. The ancient 
warriors, whose hope and confidence rested 
chiefly in their blades, were accustomed to 
deduce omens from them, especially from such 
as were supposed to have been fabricated by 
enchanted skill, of which we have various in- 
stances in the romances and legends of the time. 

17. Those thrilling sounds, etc. The con- 
noisseurs in pipe-music affect to discover in a 
well-composed pibroch the imitative sounds 
of march, conflict, flight, ]3ursuit, and all the 
" current of a heady fight." 

19. Roderigh Vich Alpine dhit. Besides his 
ordinary name and surname, which were chiefly 
used in the intercourse with the Lowlands, 
every Highland chief had an epithet expressive 
of his patriarchal dignity as head of the clan, 
and which was common to all his predecessors 
and successors, as Pharaoh to the kings of 
Egypt, or Arsaces to those of Parthia. This 
name was usually a patronymic, expressive of 
his descent from the founder of the family. Thus 
the Duke of Argyll is called MacCallum More, 
or the son of Colin the Great. Sometimes, how- 
ever, it is derived from armorial distinctions, or 
the memory of some great feat ; thus Lord Sea- 
forth,aschief of the Mackenzies,orClan-Kennet, 
bears the epithet of Caber-fae, or Buck's Head, 
as representative of Colin Fitzgerald, founder 
of the family, who saved the Scottish king when 
endangered by a stag. 

20. The best of Loch Lomond, &\.c. The Len- 
nox, as the district is called which encircles 
the lower extremity of Loch Lomond, was 
peculiarly exposed to the incursions of the 
mountaineers, who inhabited the inaccessible 
fastnesses at the upper end of the lake, and the 
neighboring district of Loch Katrine. These 
were often marked by circumstances of great 
ferocity. 



CANTO THIRD. 

I. I'lie Fiery Cross. When a chieftain de- 
signed to summon his clan upon any sudden or 
important emergency, he slew a goat, and mak- 
ing a cro.ss of any light wood, seared its extremi- 
ties in the fire, and extinguished them in the 
blood of the animal. This was called the Fiery 
Cross, also Crean Tarigh, or the Cross of Shame, 
because disobedience to what the symbol im- 
plied, inferred infamy. It was delivered to a 
swift and trusty messenger, who ran full speed 
with it to the next hamlet, where he presented 
it to the principal person, with a single word, 
implying the place of rendezvous. He who re- 
ceived the symbol was bound to send it forward, 
with equal despatch, to the next village ; and 
thus it passed with incredible celerity through all 
the district which owed allegiance to the chief, 
and also among his allies and neighbors, if the 
danger was common to them. At sight of the 
Fiery Cross, every man, from sixteen years old 
to sixty, capable of bearing arms, was obliged 
instantly to repair, in his best arms and accou- 
trements, to the place of rendezvous. He who 
failed to appear suffered the extremities of fire 
and sword, which were emblematically de- 
nounced to the disobedient by the bloody and 
burnt marks upon this warlike signal. During 
the civil war of 1745-46, the Fiery Cross often 
made its circuit ; and upon one occasion it 
passed through the whole district of Breadal- 
bane, a tract of thirty-two miles, in three hours. 
The late Alexander Stewart, Esq., of Inverna- 
hyle, described to me his having sent round the 
Fiery Cross through the district of Appine, 
during the same commotion. The coast was 
threatened by a descent from two English frig- 
ates, and the flower of the young men were 
with the army of Prince Charles Edward, then 
in England ; yet the summons was so effectual 
that even old age and childhood obeyed it; and 
a force was collected in a few hours so numer- 
ous and so enthusiastic that all attempt at the 
intended diversion upon the country of the ab- 
sent warriors was in prudence abandoned as 
desperate. 

4. That monk, of savage form and face, etc. 
The state of religion in the middle ages af- 
forded considerable facilities for those whose 
mode of life excluded them from regular wor- 
ship, to secure, nevertheless, the ghostly as- 
sistance of confessors, perfectly willing to adapt 
the nature of their doctrine to the necessities 
and peculiar circumstances of their flock. Rob- 
in Hood, it is well known, had his celebrated 
domestic chaplain Friar Tuck. 

5. Of Brian s birth, &^c. Scott says that the 
legend which follows is not of his invention, 
and goes on to show that it is taken with slight 
variation from " the geographical collections 
made by the Laird of Macfarlane." 

5. Snood. The snood, or riband, with which 
a Scottish lass braided her hair, had an em- 
blematical signification, and applied to her 
maiden character. It was exchanged for the 
eurch, toy, or coif, when she passed, by marriage. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



599 



into the matron state. But if the damsel was 
so unfortunate as to lose pretensions to the 
name of maiden without gaining a right to that 
of matron, she was neither permitted to use 
the snood, nor advanced to the graver dignity 
of the curch. 

7. The desert gave him, etc. In adopting the 
legend concerning the birth of the Founder of 
the Church of Kilmallie, the author has en- 
deavored to trace the effects which such a 
belief was likely to produce in a barbarous age 
on the person to whom it related. It seems 
likely that he must have become a fanatic, or 
an impostor, or that mixture of both which 
forms a more frequent character than either of 
them, as existing separately. 

7. The fatal Beii-Shie's boding scream. Most 
great families in the Highlands were supposed 
to have a tutelar, or rather a domestic, spirit, 
attached to them, who took an interest in their 
prosperity, and intimated, by its wailings, any 
approaching disaster. That of Grant of Grant 
was called May Moidlach, and appeared in the 
form of a girl, who had her arm covered with 
hair. Grant of Rothiemurcus had an attend- 
ant called Bodach-an-diin, or the Ghost of the 
Hill; and many other examples might be men- 
tioned. The Ben-Shie implies the female fairy 
whose lamentations were often supposed to 
precede the death of a chieftain of particular 
families. When she is visible, it is in the form 
of an old woman, with a blue mantle and stream- 
ing hair. A superstition of the same kind is, 
I believe, universally received by the inferior 
ranks of the native Irish. 

7. Sounds^ too, had come, etc. A presage of 
the kind alluded to in the text, is still believed 
to announce death to the ancient Highland 
family of M'Lean of Lochbuy. The spirit of an 
ancestor slain in battle is heard to gallop along 
a stony bank, and then to ride thrice around 
the family residence, ringing his fairy bridle, and 
thus intimating the approaching calamity. 

8. /nch-Cailliach, the Isle of Nuns, or of Old 
Women, is a most beautiful island at the lower 
extremity of Loch Lomond. The church be- 
longing to the former nunnery was long used 
as the place of worship for the parish of Bu- 
chanan, but scarce any vestiges of it now re- 
main. The burial-ground continues to be used, 
and contains the family places of sepulture of 
several neighboring clans. 

13. The dun deer''s hide, etc. The present 
brogue of the Highlanders is made of half-dried 
leather, with holes to admit and let out the 
water; for walking the moors dry-shod is a 
matter altogether out of question. The an- 
cient buskin was still ruder, being made of un- 
dressed deer's hide, with the hair outwards, — 
a circumstance which procured the Highlanders 
the well-known epithet of Jied-shan/cs. 

16. Coronach. The Coronach of the High- 
landers, like the Ululattis of the Romans, and 
the Ululoo of the Irish, was a wild expression 
of lamentation, poured forth by the mourners 
over the body of a departed friend. When 
the words of it were articulate, they expressed 



the praises of the deceased, and the loss the 
clan would sustain by his death. 

19. Benlcdi saw the cross of fire, etc. The 
first stage of the Fiery Cross is to Duncraggan, 
a place near the Brigg of Turk, where a short 
stream divides Loch Achray from Loch Ven- 
nachar. From thence it passes towards Cal- 
lander, and then, turning to the left up the 
pass of Leny, is consigned to Norman at the 
Chapel of Saint Bride, which stood on a small 
and romantic knoll in the middle of the valley, 
called Strath-Ire. Tombea and Arnandave, or 
Ardmandave, are names of places in the vicinity. 
The alarm is then supposed to pass along the 
Lake of Lubnaig, and through the various glens 
in the district of Balquidder, including the neigh- 
boring tracts of Glenfinlas and Strath-Gartney. 

24. Balquidder. It may be necessary to in- 
form the Southern reader that the heath on the 
Scottish moorlands is often set fire to, that the 
sheep may have the advantage of the young 
herbage produced, in room of the tough old 
heather plants. This custom (execrated by 
sportsmen) produces occasionally the most 
beautiful nocturnal appearances, similar al- 
most to the discharge of a volcano. This 
simile is not new to poetry. The charge of 
a warrior, in the fine ballad of Ha7-dykmite, 
is said to be " like fire to heather set." 

25. Coir-nan-Uriskin. This is a very steep 
and most romantic hollow in the mountain of 
Benvenue, overhanging the southeastern ex- 
tremity of Loch Katrine. It is surrounded 
with stupendous rocks, and overshadowed with 
birch-trees, mingled with oaks, the spontaneous 
production of the mountain, even where its 
cliffs appear denuded of soil. A dale in so 
wild a situation, and amid a people whose 
genius bordered on the romantic, did not re- 
main without appropriate deities. The name 
literally implies the Corri, or Den, of the Wild 
or Shaggy Men. Tradition has ascribed to the 
Urisk, who gives name to the cavern, a figure be- 
tween a goat and a man ; in short, however much 
the classical reader maybe startled, precisely that 
of the Grecian Satyr. The Urisk seems not to 
have inherited, with the form, the petulance of 
the sylvan deity of the classics ; his occupation, 
on the contrary,resembled those of Milton's Lub- 
bar Fiend, or of the .Scottish Brownie, though he 
differed from both in name and appearance. 



CANTO FOURTH. 

4. The Taghairm. The Highlanders, like 
all rude people, had various superstitious 
modes of inquiring into futurity. One of the 
most noted was the Taghairm, mentioned in 
the text. A person was wrapped up in the 
skin of a newly slain bullock, and deposited 
beside a waterfall, or at the bottom of a pre- 
cipice, or in some other strange, wild, and 
unusual situation, where the scenery around 
him suggested nothing but objects of horror. 
In this situation he revolved in his mind the 



6oo 



NOTES. 



question proposed ; and whatever was im- 
pressed upon him by his exalted imagination, 
passed for the inspiration of the disembodied 
spirits who haunt these desolate recesses. 

5. T/ie Hero's Targe. I'here is a rock so 
named in the Forest of Glenfinlas, by which 
a tumultuary cataract takes its course. This 
wild place is said in former times to have 
afforded refuge to an outlaw, who was sup- 
plied with provisions by a woman, who lowered 
them down from the brink of the precipice 
above. His water he procured for himself, 
by letting down a flagon tied to a string into 
the black pool beneath the fall. 

6. Which spills the foremost foemait's life. 
Though this be in the text described as a 
response of the Taghairm, or Oracle of the 
Hide, it was of itself an augury frequently 
attended to. The fate of the battle was often 
anticipated; in the imagination of the combat- 
ants, by observing which party first shed blood. 
It is said that the Highlanders under Montrose 
were so deeply imbued with this notion, that 
on the morning of the battle of Tippermoor 
they murdered a defenceless herdsman, whom 
they found in the fields, merely to secure an 
advantage of so much consequence to their party. 

13. 7 he fairies' fatal green. As the Daoine 
Shi', or Men of Peace, wore green habits, they 
were supposed to take offence when any mor- 
tals ventured to assume their favorite color. 
Indeed, from some reason, which has been 
perhaps originally a general superstition, o-ri?^;; 
is held in Scotland to be unlucky to particular 
tribes and counties. The Caithness men, who 
hold this belief, allege as a reason that their 
bands wore that color when they were cut off 
at the battle of Flodden ; and for the same 
reason they avoid crossing the Ord on a Mon- 
day, being the day of the week on which their 
ill-omened array set forth. Green is also dis- 
liked by those of the name of Ogilvy ; but 
more especially it is held fatal to the whole 
clan of Grahame. It is remembered of an 
aged gentleman of that name that when his 
horse fell in a fox-chase, he accounted for it 
at once by observing that the whipcord attached 
to his lash was of this unlucky color. 

13. Wert christened man. The Elves were 
supposed greatly to envy the privileges ac- 
quired by Christian initiation, and they gave 
to those mortals who had fallen into their 
power a certain precedence, founded upon this 
advantageous distinction. 

30. Who ever recked, &ic. Saint J<5hn actually 
used this illustration when engaged in confuting 
the plea of law proposed for the unfortunate 
Earl of Strafford : " It was true, we gave laws 
to hares and deer, because they are beasts of 
chase ; but it was never accounted either cruelty 
or foul play to knock foxes or wolves on the 
head as they can be found, because they are 
beasts of ]Drey. In a word, the law and hu- 
manity were alike : the one being more fal- 
lacious, and the other more barbarous, than in 
any age had been vented in such an authority" 
(Clarendon's History of the Kebellioti). 



31. The hardened flesh of mcicntain deer. The 
Scottish Highlanders, in former times, had a 
concise mode of cooking their venison, or 
rather of dispensing with cooking it, which 
appears greatly to have surprised the French, 
whom chance made acquainted with it. The 
Vidame of Chartres, when a hostage in Eng- 
land, during the reign of Edward VI., was per- 
mitted to travel into .Scotland, and penetrated 
as far as to the remote Highlands [an fin fond 
dcs Sanvages). After a great hunting-party, at 
which a most wonderful quantity of game was 
destroyed, he saw these Scottish savages devour 
a part of their venison raw, without any farther 
preparation than compressing it between two 
batons of wood, so as to force out the blood, 
and render it extremely hard. This they reck- 
oned a great delicacy ; and when the Vidame 
partook of it, his compliance with their taste 
rendered him extremely popular. 



CANTO FIFTH. 

6. Alluuiy. There is scarcely a more disor- 
derly period of Scottish history than that which 
succeeded the battle of Flodden, and occupied 
the minority of James V. Feuds of ancient 
standing broke out like old wounds, and every 
quarrel among the independent nobility, which 
occurred daily, and almost hourly, gave rise to 
fresh bloodshed. 

II. / only meant, etc. This incident, like 
some other passages in the poem, illustrative 
of the character of the ancient Gael, is not 
imaginary, but borrowed from fact. The High- 
landers, with the inconsistency of most nations 
in the same slate, were ahernately capable of 
great exertions of generosity and of cruel re- 
venge and perfidy. Karly in the last century, 
John Gunn, a noted Highland robber, infested 
Inverness-shire, and levied black-mail up to the 
walls of the ))rovincial capjital. A garrison was 
then maintained in the castle of that town, and 
their pay (country banks being unknown) was 
usually transmitted in specie under the guard 
of a small escort. It chanced that the officer 
who commanded this little party was unexpect- 
edly obliged to halt, about thirty miles from 
Inverness, at a miserable inn. About nightfall, 
a stranger in the Highland dress, and of very 
prepossessing appearance, entered the same 
house. Separate accommodation being impos- 
sible, the Englishman offered the newly arrived 
guest a part of his su]iper, which was accepted 
with reluctance. By the conversation he found 
his new acquaintance knew well all the passes 
of the country, which induced him eagerly to 
request his company on the ensuing morning. 
He neither disguised his business and charge, 
nor his apprehensions of that celebrated free- 
booter, John Gunn. The Highlander hesitated 
a moment, and then frankly consented to be his 
guide. Forth they set in the morning ; and in 
travelling through a solitary and dreary glen, 
the discourse again turned on John Gunn. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



60 r 



" Would you like to see him ? " said the guide ; 
and without waiting an answer to this alarming 
question he whistled, and the English officer, 
with his small party, were surrounded by a body 
of Highlanders, whose numbers put resistance 
out of question, and who were all well armed. 
" Stranger," resumed the guide, " I am that 
very John Gunn by whom you feared to be in- 
tercepted, and not without cause ; for I came 
to the inn last night with the express purpose 
of learning your route, that I ancl my followers 
might ease you of your charge by the road. 
But I am incapable of betraying the trust you 
rejDOsed in me, and having convinced you that 
vou were in my power, I can only dismiss you 
unplundered and uninjured." He then gave 
the officer directions for his journey, and dis- 
appeared with his party as suddenly as they had 
presented themselves. 

12. Three mighty lakes. The torrent which 
discharges itself from Loch Vennachar, the 
lowest and eastmost of the three lakes which 
form the scenery adjoining to the Trosachs, 
sweei^s through a flat and extensive moor, 
called Bochastle. Upon a small eminence 
called the Dun of Bochastle, and indeed on 
the plain itself, are some intrenchments which 
have been thought Roman. 

15. His targe. A round target of light-wood, 
covered with strong leather and studded with 
brass or iron, was a necessary part of a High- 
lander's equipment. In charging regular troops 
they received the thrust of the bayonet in this 
buckler, twisted it aside, and used the broad- 
sword against the encumbered soldier. In the 
civil war of 1745 most of the front rank of the 
clans were thus armed; and Captain Grose 
{Military Antiquities, vol. i. p. 164) informs us 
that in 1747 the privates of the 42d regiment, 
then in Flanders, were for the most part per- 
mitted to carry targets. A person thus armed 
had a considerable advantage in private fray. 

20. The burghers hold their sports to-day. Ev- 
ery burgh of Scotland of the least note, but 
more especially the considerable towns, had 
their solemn play, or festival, when feats of 
archery were exhibited, and prizes distributed 
to those who excelled in wrestling, hurling the 
bar, and the other gymnastic exercises of the 
period. Stirling, a usual place of royal resi- 
dence, was not likely to be deficient in pomp 
upon such occasions, especially since James V. 
was very partial to them. His ready partici- 
pation in these popular amusements was one 
cause of his acquiring the title of the King of 
the Commons, or Rex Plebeiorutn, as Lesley has 
latinized it. The usual prize to the best shooter 
was a silver arrow. 

22. Robin Hood. The exhibition of this re- 
nowned outlaw and his band was a favorite 
frolic at such festivals as we are describing. 
This sporting, in which kings did not disdain 
to be actors, was prohibited in Scotland upon 
the Reformation, by a statute of the 6th parlia- 
ment of Queen Mary, c. 61, A. D. 1555, which 
ordered, under heavy penalties, that "na man- 
ner of person be chosen Robert Hude, nor 



Little John, Abbot of Unreason, Queen of May, 
nor otherwise." But in i56t the " rascal mul- 
titude," says John Knox, " were stirred up to 
make a Robin Hude, whilk enormity was of 
mony years left and damned by statute and act 
of Parliament ; yet would they not be forbid- 
den." Accordingly they raised a very serious 
tumult, and at length made prisoners the magis- 
trates who endeavored to suppress it, and would 
not release them till they extorted a formal 
promise that no one should be punished for his 
share of the disturbance. It would seem, from 
the complaints of the General Assembly of the 
Kirk, that these profane festivities were con- 
tinued down to 1592 {Book of the Universal 
Kirk, p. 414). 



CAxNTO SIXTH. 

3. Adventurers they, etc. The Scottish ar- 
mies consisted chiefly of the nobility and bar- 
ons, with their vassals, who held lands under 
them for military service by themselves and 
their tenants. The patriarchal influence exer- 
cised by the heads of clans in the Highlands 
and Borders was of a different nature, and 
sometimes at variance with feudal principles. 
It flowed from the Patria Poteslas, exercised by 
the chieftain as representing the original father 
of the whole name, and was often obeyed in 
contradiction to the feudal superior. James 
V. seems first to have introduced, in addition 
to the militia furnished from these sources, the 
service of a small number of mercenaries, who 
formed a body guard, called the Foot- Band. 

6. The leader of a juggler band. The jong- 
leurs, or jugglers, as we learn from the elabo- 
rate work of the late Mr. Strutt, on the sports 
and pastimes of the people of England, used to 
call in the aid of various assistants, to render 
these performances as captivating as possible. 
The glee-maiden was a necessary attendant. 
Her duty was tumbling and dancing ; and there- 
fore the Anglo-Saxon version of Saint Mark's 
Gospel states Herodias to have vaulted or tum- 
bled before King Herod. 

14. Strike it! There are several instances, 
at least in tradition, of persons so much at- 
tached to particular tunes as to require to hear 
them on their death-bed. Such an anecdote is 
mentioned by the late Mr. Riddel of Glenrid- 
del, in his collection of Border tunes, respect- 
ing an air called the Dandling of the Bairns, 
for which a certain Gallovidian laird is said to 
have evinced this strong mark of partiality. 
It is popularly told of a famous freebooter, that 
he composed the tune known by the name of 
Macpherson's Rant while under sentence of 
death, and played it at the gallows-tree. Some 
spirited words have been adapted to it by 
Burns. A similar story is recounted of a Welsh 
bard, who composed and played on his death- 
bed the air called Dafyddy Garregg Wen. 

15. Battle of Bear an Duine. A skirmish 
actually took place at a pass thus called in the 
Trosachs, and closed with the remarkable in- 



602 



NOTES. 



cident mentioned in the text. It was greatly 
posterior in date to the reign of James V. 

17. Thuhel. A circle of sportsmen, who, by 
surrounding a great space, and gradually nar- 
rowing, brought immense quantities of deer 
together, which usually made desperate efforts 
to break through the Tinchei. 

26. A7id Snowdomt's Kitight is Scotland's 
King. This discovery will probably remind 
the reader of the beautiful Arabian tale of // 
Boiidocatii. Yet the incident is not borrowed 
from that elegant story, but from Scottish tra- 
dition. James V., of whom we are treating, 
was a monarch whose good and benevolent in- 
tentions often rendered his romantic freaks 
venial, if not respectable, since, from his anx- 
ious attention to the interests of the lower and 
most oppressed class of his subjects, he was, as 
we have seen, popularly termed the King of the 
Commons. For the purpose of seeing that jus- 



tice was regularly administered, and frequently 
from the less justifiable motive of gallantry, he 
used to traverse the vicinage of his several pal- 
aces in various disguises. The two excellent 
comic songs entitled The Gaberlunzie Man and 
We 'II gae nae niair a 7-oving are said to have 
been founded upon the success of his amorous 
adventures when travelling in the disguise of a 
beggar. The latter is perhaps the l^est comic 
ballad in any language. 

28. Tlie name of Sno7udoiin. William of 
Worcester, who wrote about the middle of the 
fifteenth century, calls Stirling Castle Snow- 
doun. Sir David Lindesay bestows the same 
epithet upon it in his Complaint of the Pa- 
pingo : — 

" Adieu, fair Snawdoun, with thy towers high. 
Thy chaple-royal, park, and table round ; 
May, June, and July, would I dwell in thee, 
Were I a man, to hear the birdis sound, 
Whilk doth agane thy royal rock rebound." 



Clje Uision of Don iRotrenrlu 



The Vision of Don Roderick was published 
July 15, 181 1, and had the following preface : — 

" The following Poem is founded upon a 
Spanish Tradition, particularly detailed in the 
Notes ; but bearing, in general, that Don Rod- 
erick, the last Gothic King of Spain, when the 
Invasion of the Moors was impending, had the 
temerity to descend into an ancient vault, near 
Toledo, the opening of which had been de- 
nounced as fatal to the Spanish Monarchy. 
The legend adds, that his rash curiosity was 
mortified by an emblematical representation of 
those Saracens who, in the year 714, defeated 
him in battle, and reduced Spain under their 
dominion. I have presumed to prolong the 
Vision of the Revolutions of Spain down to 
the present eventful crisis of the Peninsula ; 
and to divide it, by a supposed change of scene, 
into Three Periods. The First of these repre- 
sents the Invasion of the Moors, the Defeat 
and Death of Roderick, and closes with the 
peaceful occupation of the country by the Vic- 
tors. The Second Period embraces the state 
of the Peninsula, when the conquests of the 
Spaniards and Portuguese in the East and 
West Indies had raised to the highest pitch 
the renown of their arms ; sullied, however, by 
superstition and cruelty. An allusion to the 
inhumanities of the Inquisition terminates this 
picture. The Last Part of the Poem opens 
with the state of Spain previous to the unpar- 
alleled treachery of Bonaparte ; gives a sketch 
of the usurpation attempted upon that unsus- 
picious and friendly kingdom, and terminates 
with the arrival of the British succors. It may 
be further proper to mention that the object of 
the Poem is less to commemorate or detail 
particular incidents, than to exhibit a general 
and impressive picture of the several i:)eriods 
brought upon the stage. 



" I am too sensible of the respect due to the 
Public, especially by one who has already ex- 
perienced more than ordinary indulgence, to 
offer any apology for the inferiority of the 
poetry to the subject it is chiefly designed to 
commemorate. Yet I think it proper to men- 
tion that while I was hastily executing a work, 
written for a temporary purpose, and on passing 
events, the task was most cruelly interrupted 
by the successive deaths of Lord President 
Blair and Lord Viscount Melville. In those 
distinguished characters I had not only to re- 
gret persons whose lives were most important 
to Scotland, but also whose notice and patron- 
age honored my entrance upon active life ; 
and, I may add, with melancholy pride, who 
permitted my more advanced age to claim no 
common share in their friendship. Under such 
interruptions, the following verses, which my 
best and happiest efforts must have left far 
unworthv of their theme, have, I am myself 
sensible, an appearance of negligence and inco- 
herence, which, in other circumstances, I might 
have been able to remove. 

"Edinburgh, June 2^, iSii." 



INTRODUCTION. 

4. And Cattreath's glens with voice of trijimph 
rnng, etc. This locality may startle those 
readers who do not recollect that much of the 
ancient poetry preserved in Wales refers less 
to the history of the Principality to which that 
name is now limited, than to events which 
happened in the northwest of England, and 
southwest of Scotland, where the Britons for 
a long time made a stand against the Saxons. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



603 



The battle of Cattreath, lamented by the cele- 
brated Aneurin, is supposed, by the learned 
Dr. Leyden, to have been fought on the skirts 
of Ettrick Forest. It is known to the English 
reader by the paraphrase of Gray, beginning, — 

"Had I but the torrent's might, 
With headlong rage and wild affright," etc. 

But it is not so generally known that the cham- 
pions, mourned in this beautiful dirge, were the 
British inhabitants of Edinburgh, who were 
cut off by the Saxons of Deiria, or Northum- 
berland, about the latter part of the sixth 
century. 

8. Minchniore's hminted spring. A belief in 
the existence and nocturnal revels of the fairies 
still lingers among the vulgar in Selkirkshire. 
A copious fountain upon the ridge of Minch- 
more, called the Cheesewell, is supposed to be 
sacred to these fanciful spirits, and it was 
customary to propitiate them by throwing in 
something upon passing it. A pin was the 
usual oblation ; and the ceremony is still some- 
times practised, though rather in jest than 
earnest. 

9. In verse spontaneous chants some favored 
name. The flexibility of the Italian and Spanish 
languages, and perhaps the liveliness of their 
genius, renders these countries distinguished 
for the talent of improvisation, which is found 
even among the lowest of the people. It is 
mentioned by Baretti and other travellers. 

9. Kindling at the deeds of Gra;me. Over a 
name sacred for ages to heroic verse, a poet may 
be allowed to exercise some power. I have used 
the freedom, here and elsewhere, to alter the 
orthography of the name of my gallant country- 
man, in order to apprise the Southern reader 
of its legitimate sound; — Grahame being, on 
the other side of the Tweed, usually pronounced 
as a dissyllable. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

4. What! will Don Roderick here till morti- 
ittg stay, etc.? Almost all the Spanish his- 
torians, as well as the voice of tradition, 
ascribe the invasion of the Moors to the 
forcible violation committed by Roderick upon 
Florinda, called by the Moors, Caba or Cava. 
She was the daughter of Count Julian, one 
of the Gothic monarch's principal lieutenants, 
who, when the crime was perpetrated, was 
engaged in the defence of Ceuta against the 
Moors. In his indignation at the ingratitude 
of his sovereign, and the dishonor of his 
daughter. Count Julian forgot the duties of 
a Christian and a patriot, and, forming an 
alliance with Musa, then the Caliph's lieuten- 
ant in Africa, he countenanced the invasion 
of Spain by a body of Saracens and Africans, 
commanded by the celebrated Tarik ; the issue 
of which was the defeat and death of Roderick, 
and the occupation of almost the whole penin- 
sula by the Moors. 



19. The Tecbir -war-cry and the Lclie's yell. 
The Tecbir (derived from the words Alia acbar, 
God is most mighty) was the original war-cry 
of the Saracens. It is celebrated by Hughes 
in the Siege of Damascus : — 

" We heard the Tecbir : so these Arabs call 
Their shout of onset, when, with loud appeal, 
They challenge Heaven, as if demanding conquest.'' 

The Lelie, well known to the Christians dur- 
ing the crusades, is the shout of Alia ilia Alia, 
the Mahometan confession of faith. It is twice 
used in poetry by my friend Mr. W. Stewart 
Rose, in the romance of Partenopex, and in the 
Crusade of Saint Le7vis. 

21. By Heaven, the Moors prevail ! the Chris- 
tians yield ! etc. Count Julian, the father of 
the injured Florinda, with the connivance and 
assistance of Oppas, Archbishop of Toledo, in- 
vited, in 713, the Saracens into Spain. A con- 
siderable army arrived under the command of 
Tarik, or Tarif, who bequeathed the well-known 
name of Gibraltar ( Gibel al Tarik, or the moun- 
tain of Tarik) to the place of his landing. He 
was joined by Count Julian, ravaged Andalusia, 
and took Seville. In 714 they returned with 
a still greater force, and Roderick marched 
into Andalusia at the head of a great army, 
to give them battle. 

Orelia, the courser of Don Roderick, was 
celebrated for her speed and form. She is 
mentioned repeatedly in Spanish romance, and 
also by Cervantes. 

33. When for the light bolero ready stand, etc. 
The bolero is a very light and active dance, 
much practised by the Spaniards, in which 
castanets are always used. Mozo and miuha- 
cha is equivalent to our phrase of lad and lass. 

43. While trumpets rang, and heralds cried 
"■^Castile!" The heralds, at the coronation of 
a Spanish monarch, proclaim his name three 
times, and repeat three times the word Castilla, 
Castilla, Castilla ; which, with all other cere- 
monies, was carefully copied in the mock in- 
auguration of Joseph Bonaparte. 



CONCLUSION. 

2. While doivnward on the land his legiotis 
press, etc. I have ventured to apply to the 
movements of the French army that sublime 
passage in the prophecies of Joel (ii. 2-10) 
which seems applicable to them in more re- 
spects than that I have adopted in the text. 

8. Vainglorious fugitive. The French con- 
ducted this memorable retreat with much of the 
fanfarrotiade proper to their country, by which 
they attempt to impose upon others, and per- 
haps on themselves, a belief that they are 
triumphing in the very moment of their dis- 
comfiture. On the 30th March, 181 1, their 
rear-guard was overtaken near Pega by the 
British cavalry. Being well posted, and con- 
ceiving themselves safe from infantry (who 
were indeed many miles in the rear) and from 



6o4 



NOTES. 



artillery, they indulged themselves in parading 
their bands of music, and actually performed 
" God save the King." Their minstrelsy was, 
however, deranged by the undesired accom- 
paniment of the British horse-artillery, on 
whose part in the concert they had not cal- 
culated. The surprise was sudden, and the 
rout complete ; for the artillery and cavalry 
did execution upon them for about four miles, 
pursuing at the gallop as often as they got 
beyond the range of the guns. 

ID. Vainly thy sqnadro7is hide Assuava's plain, 
etc. In the severe action of Fuentes d' Honoro, 
upon 5th May, 181 1, the grand mass of the 
French cavalry attacked the right of the British 
position, covered by two guns of the horse- 
artillery, and two squadrons of cavalry. After 
suffering considerably from the fire of the guns, 
which annoyed them in every attempt at for- 
mation, the enemy turned their wrath entirely 
towards them, distributed brandy among their 
troopers, and advanced to carry the field- 
pieces with the desperation of drunken fury. 
They were in no wise checked by the heavy 
loss which they sustained in this daring at- 
tempt, but closed, and fairly mingled with the 
British cavalry, to whom they bore the propor- 
tion of ten to one. Captain Ramsay, who 
commanded the two guns, dismissed them at 
the gallop, and putting himself at the head of 
the mounted artillerymen, ordered them to fall 
upon the French, sabre-in-hand. This very 
unexpected conversion of artillerymen into 
dragoons contributed greatly to the defeat 
of the enemy already disconcerted by the re- 
ception they had met from the two British 
squadrons ; and the appearance of some small 
reinforcements, notwithstanding the immense 
disproportion of force, put them to absolute 
rout. 

10. And 7vhat avails thee that, for Cameron 
slain, etc. The gallant Colonel Cameron was 
wounded mortally during the desperate contest 
in the streets of the village called Fuentes 
d' Honoro. He fell at the head of his native 



Highlanders, the 71st and 79th, who raised 
a dreadful shriek of grief and rage. They 
charged, with irresistible fury, the finest body 
of French grenadiers ever seen, being a part 
of Bonaparte's selected guard. The officer 
who led the French, a man remarkable for 
stature and symmetry, was killed on the spot. 
The Frenchman who stepped out of his rank 
to take aim at Colonel Cameron was also 
bayoneted, pierced with a thousand wounds, 
and almost torn to pieces by the furious High- 
landers, who, imder the command of Colonel 
Cadogan, bore the enemy out of the contested 
ground at the point of the bayonet. 

14. f 7oho shall grudge hint Albicera's bays, 
etc. Nothing during the war of Portugal 
seems, to a distinct observer, more deserving 
of praise, than the self-devotion of Field- 
Marshal' Beresford, who was contented to 
undertake all the hazard of obloquy which 
might have been founded upon any miscarriage 
in the highly important experiment of training 
the Portuguese troops to an improved state 
of discipline. 

17. The conquering shout of Grivnie. This 
stanza alludes to the various achievements of 
the warlike family of Grasme, or Grahame. 
They are said, by tradition, to have descended 
from the Scottish chief, under whose command 
his countrymen stormed the wall built by the 
Emperor Severus between the Friths of Forth 
and Clyde, the fragments of which are still 
popularly called Graeme's Dyke. Sir John the 
Graeme, " the hardy, wight, and wise," is well 
known as the friend of Sir William Wallace. 
Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibbermuir, were scenes 
of the victories of the heroic Marquis of Mont- 
rose. The pass of Killycrankie is famous for 
the action between King William's forces and 
the Highlanders in i68g. " Where glad Dun- 
dee in faint huzzas expired." It is seldom that 
one line can number so many heroes, and yet 
more rare when it can appeal to the glory of a 
living descendant in support of its ancient 
renown. 



iEokebi). 



Sir Walter Scott commenced the compo- 
sition of Rokeby at Abbotsford, on the 15th of 
September, 181 2, and finished it on the last 
day of the following December. The edition of 
1830 contained the following introduction : — 

" Between the publication of The Lady of the 
Lake, which was so eminently successful, and 
that of Rokeby, in 181 3, three years had inter- 
vened. I shall not, I believe, be accused of 
ever having attempted to usurp a superiority 
over many men of genius, my contemporaries ; 
but, in point of popularity, not of actual talent, 
the caprice of the public had certainly given 
me such a temporary superiority over men, of 



whom, in regard to poetical fancy and feeling, 
I scarcely thought myself worthy to loose the 
shoe-latch. On the other hand, it would be ab- 
surd affectation in me to deny, that I conceived 
myself to understand, more perfectly than many 
of my contemporaries, the manner most likely 
to interest the great mass of mankind. Yet, 
even with this belief, I must truly and fairly 
say that I always considered myself rather as 
one who held the bets in time to be paid over 
to the winner, than as having any pretence to 
kee]D them in my own right. 

" lu the mean time years crept on, and not 
without their usual depredations on the passing- 
generation. My sons had arrived at the age 



ROKEBY. 



605 



when the paternal home was no longer their 
best abode, as both were destined to active life. 
The field-sports, to which I was peculiarly at- 
tached, had now less interest, and were replaced 
by other amusements of a more quiet character; 
and the means and opportunity of pursuing 
these were to be sought for. I had, indeed, for 
some years attended to farming, a knowledge of 
which is, or at least was then, indispensable to 
the comfort of a family residing in a solitary 
country-house ; but although this was the favor- 
ite amusement of many of my friends, I have 
never been able to consider it as a source of 
jjleasure. I never could think it a matter of 
liassing importance, that my cattle or crops 
were better or more plentiful than those of my 
neighbors, and nevertheless I began to feel the 
necessity of some more quiet out-door occupa- 
tion, different from those I had hitherto pur- 
sued. I purchased a small farm of about one 
hundred acres, with the purpose of planting and 
improving it, to which property circumstances 
afterwards enabled me to make considerable 
additions ; and thus an era took place in my 
life, almost equal to the important one men- 
tioned by the Vicar of Wakefield, when he re- 
moved from the Blue-room to the Brown. In 
point of neighborhood, at least, the change of 
residence made little more difference. Abbots- 
ford, to which we removed, was only si.\ or 
seven miles down the Tweed, and lay on the 
same beautiful stream. It did not possess the 
romantic character of Ashestiel, my former resi- 
dence ; but it had a stretch of meadow-land 
along the river, and possessed, in the phrase of 
the landscape-gardener, considerable capabili- 
ties. Above all, the land was my own, like 
Uncle Toby's Bowling-green, to do what I would 
with. It had been, though the gratification was 
long postponed, an early wish of mine to con- 
nect myself with my mother earth, and prose- 
cute those experiments by which a species of 
creative power is exercised over the face of 
nature. I can trace, even to childhood, a 
pleasure derived from Dodsley's account of 
Shenstone's Leasowes, and I envied the poet 
much more for the pleasure of accomplishing 
the objects detailed in his friend's sketch of 
his grounds, than for the possession of pipe, 
crook, flock, and Phillis to boot. My memory, 
also, tenacious of c[uaint expressions, still re- 
tained a phrase which it had gathered from 
an old almanac of Charles the Second's time 
(when everything down to almanacs affected 
to be smart), in which the reader, in the month 
of June, is advised for health's sake to walk a 
mile or two every day before breakfast, and, if 
he can possibly so manage, to let his exercise 
be taken upon his own land. 

" With the satisfaction of having attained the 
fulfilment of an early and long-cherished hope, 
I commenced my improvements, as delightful 
in their progress as those of the child who first 
makes a dress for a new doll. The nakedness 
of the land was in time hidden by woodlands 
of considerable extent — the smallest of possible 
cottages was progressively expanded into a sort 



of dream of a mansion-house, whimsical in the 
exterior, but convenient within. Nor did I for- 
get what is the natural pleasuie of every man 
who has been a reader ; I mean the filling the 
shelves of a tolerably large library. All these 
objects I kept in view, to be executed as con- 
venience should serve ; and although I knew 
many years must elapse before they could be 
attained, I was of a disposition to comfort my- 
self with the Spanish proverb, ' Time and I 
against any two.' 

" The difficult and indispensable point of find- 
ing a permanent subject of occupation was now 
at length attained ; but there was annexed to 
it the necessity of becoming again a candidate 
for public favor ; for as I was turned improver 
on the earth of the every-day world, it was under 
condition that the small tenement of Parnassus, 
which might be accessible to my labors, should 
not remain uncultivated. 

" I meditated, at first, a poem on the subject 
of Bruce, in which I made some progress, but 
afterwards judged it advisable to lay it aside, 
supposing that an English story might have 
more novelty ; in consequence, the precedence 
was given to Rokcby. 

" If subject and scenery could have influenced 
the fate of a poem, that of Rokebv should have 
been eminently distinguished ; for the grounds 
belonged to a dear friend, with whom 1 'had 
lived in habits of intimacy for many years, and 
the place itself united the romantic beauties of 
the wilds of Scotland with the rich and smiling 
aspect of the southern jDortion of the island. 
But the Cavaliers and Roundheads, whom I 
attempted to summon up to tenant this beauti- 
ful region, had for the public neither the novelty 
nor the peculiar interest of the primitive High- 
landers. This, perhaps, was scarcely to be ex- 
pected, considering that the general mind 
sympathizes readily and at once with the stamp 
which nature herself has affixed upon the 
manners of a people living in a simple and 
patriarchal state ; whereas it has more difficulty 
in understanding or interesting itself in manners 
founded upon those peculiar habits of thinking 
or acting which are produced by the progress 
of society. We could read with pleasure the 
tale of the adventures of a Cossack or a Mongol 
Tartar, while we only wonder and stare over 
those of the lovers in the Pleasing Chinese 
History, where the embarrassments turn upon 
difficulties arising out of unintelligible delicacies 
peculiar to the customs and manners of that 
affected people. 

" The cause of my failure had, however, afar 
deeper root. The manner, or style, which, by 
its novelty, attracted the public in an unusual 
degree, had now, after having been three times 
before them, exhausted the patience of the 
reader, and began in the fourth to lose its 
charms. The reviewers may be said to have 
apostrophized the author in the language of 
Parnell's Edwin : — 

' And here reverse the charm, he cries, 
And let it fairly now suffice, 
The gambol has been shown.' 



6o6 



NOTES. 



"The licentious combination of rhymes, in a 
manner perhaps not very congenial to our lan- 
guage, had not been confined to the author. 
Indeed, in most similar cases, the inventors of 
such novelties have their reputation destroyed 
by their own imitators, as Actajon fell under 
the fury of his own dogs. The present author, 
like Bobadil, had taught his trick of fence to a 
hundred gentlemen (and ladies), who could fence 
very nearly or quite as well as himself. For 
this there was no remedy ; the harmony became 
tiresome and ordinary, and both the original 
inventor and his invention must have fallen into 
contempt if he had not found out another road 
to public favor. What has been said of the 
metie only, must be considered to apply equally 
to the structure of the Poem and of the style. 
The very best passages of any popular style are 
not, perhaps, susceptible of imitation, but they 
may be ap]>roached by men of talent ; and those 
who are less able to co]5v them, at least lay hold 
of their peculiar features, so as to produce a 
strong burlesque. In either way, the effect of 
the manner is rendered cheap and common ; 
and, in the latter case, ridiculous to boot. The 
evil consequences to an author's reputation are 
at least as fatal as those which come upon the 
musical composer when his melody falls into 
the hands of the street ballad-singer. 

" Of the unfavorable species of imitation, the 
author's style gave room to a very large num- 
ber, owing to an appearance of facility to which 
some of those who used the measure unques- 
tionably leaned too far. The effect of the more 
favorable imitations, composed by persons of 
talent, was almost equallv unfortunate to the 
original minstrel, by showing that they could 
overshoot him with his own bow. In short, the 
popularity which once attended the School, as 
it was called, was now fast decaying. 

" Besides all this, to have kept his ground at 
the crisis when Rokeby apjjeared, its author 
ought to have put forth his utmost strength, and 
to have possessed at least all his- original advan- 
tages, for a mighty and unexpected rival was 
advancing on the stage, — a rival not in poetical 
powers only, but in that art of attracting popu- 
larity, in which the present writer had hitherto 
preceded better men than himself. The reader 
will easily see that Byron is here meant, who, 
after a little velitation of no great promise, now 
appeared as a serious candidate, in the first two 
cantos of Cliilde Harold. I was astonished at 
the power evinced by that work, which neither 
the H0117-S of Idleness, nor the English Bards 
and Scotch Rcz'iexvers, had prepared me to ex- 
pect from its author. There was a depth in his 
thought, an eager abundance in his diction, 
which argued full confidence in the inexhaust- 
ible resources of which he felt himself pos- 
sessed, and there was some appearance of that 
labor of the file,, which indicates that the author 
is conscious of the necessitv of doing every 
justice to his work, that it may pass warrant. 
Lord Byron was also a traveller, a man whose 
ideas were fired by having seen, in distant scenes 
of difficulty and danger, the places whose very 



names are recorded in our bosoms as the shrines 
of ancient poetry. For his own misfortune, 
perhaps, but certainly to the high increase of 
his poetical character, nature had mixed in 
Lord Byron's system those passions which 
agitate the human heart with most violence, 
and which may be said to have hurried his 
bright career to an early close. There would 
have been little wisdom in measuring my force 
with so formidable an antagonist ; and I was 
as likely to tire of playing the second fiddle 
in the concert, as my audience of hearing me. 
Age also was advancing. I was growing in- 
sensible to those subjects of excitation by which 
youth is agitated. I had around me the most 
pleasant but least e.xciting of all society, that of 
kind friends and an affectionate family. My 
circle of employments was a narrow one ; it 
occupied me constantly, and it became daily 
more difficult for me to interest myself in poeti- 
cal composition : — 

' How happily the days of Thalaha went by ! ' 

" Yet, though conscious that I must be, in the 
opinion of good judges inferior to the place 1 
had for four or five years held in letters, and 
feeling alike that the latter was one to which I 
had only a temporary right, I could not brook 
the idea of relinquishing literary occupation, 
which had been so long my chief diversion. 
Neither was I disposed to choose the alternative 
of sinking into a mere editor and commentator, 
though that was a species of labor which I had 
practised, and to which I was attached. But I 
could not endure to think that I might not, 
whether known or concealed, do something of 
more importance. My inmost thoughts were 
those of the Trojan Captain in the galley race, — 

' Non jam, prima peto, Mnestheus, iieque vincere certo, 
Quanquam O ! — sed superent, quibus hoc, Neptune, de- 

disti : 
Extremos pudeat rediisse : hoc vincite, cives, 
Et prohibete nefas.' ' — ^n. hb. v. 194. 

" I had, indeed, some private reasons for my 
' Quanquam O ! ' which were not worse than 
those of Mnestheus. I have already hinted 
that the materials were collected for a poem on 
the subject of Bruce, and fragments of it had 
been shown to some of my friends, and received 
with a]5plause. Notwithstanding, therefore, the 
eminent success of Byron, and the great chance 
of his taking the wind out of my sails, there 
was, I judged, a species of cowardice in desist- 
ing from the task which I had undertaken, and 
it was time enough to retreat when the battle 
should be more decidedly lost. The sale of 
Rokeby, excei:)ting as compared with that of 
The Lady of the Lakc,\iz.% in the highest degree 
respectable ; and as it included fifteen hundred 
quartos, in those quarto-reading days, the trade 
had no reason to be dissatisfied. 

" Abbotsford, ^/r//, 1830." 

' " I seek not now the foremost pahn to gain ; 

Thounh yet — but ah ! that haughty wish is vain ! 
Let those enjoy it whom the gods ordain. 
But to be last, the lags of all the race ! — 
Redeem yourselves and me from that disgrace." 

Dryden. 



ROKEBY. 



607 



CANTO FIRST. 

I. On Barnard^ s towers, and Tees' s stream, 
etc. " Barnard Castle," saith old Leland, 
"standeth stately upon Tees." It is founded 
upon a very high bank, and its ruins impend 
over the river, including within the area a cir- 
cuit of six acres and upwards. This once 
magnificent fortress derives its name from its 
founder, Barnard Baliol, the ancestor of the 
short and unfortunate dynasty of that name, 
which succeeded to the Scottish throne under 
the patronage of Edward I. and Edward III. 
Baliol's Tower, afterwards mentioned in the 
poem, is a round tower of great size, situated 
at the western extremity of the building. It 
bears marks of great antiquity, and was remark- 
able for the curious construction of its vaulted 
roof, which has been lately greatly injured by 
the operations of some persons, to whom the 
tower has been leased for the purpose of mak- 
ing patent shot ! The prospect from the top of 
Baliol's Tower commands a rich and magnifi- 
cent view of the wooded valley of the Tees. 

6. The fuvrioii's phivies his visage hide, etc. 
The use of complete suits of armor was fallen 
into disuse during the Civil War, though they 
were still worn by leaders of rank and impor- 
tance. " In the reign of King James I.," says 
our military antiquary, " no great alterations 
were made in the article of defensive armor, 
except that the buff-coat, or jerkin, which was 
originally worn under the cuirass, now became 
frequently a substitute for it, it having been 
found that a good buff leather would of itself 
resist the stroke of a sword ; this, however, 
only occasionally took place among the light- 
armed cavalry and infantry, complete suits of 
armor being still used among the heavy horse. 
Buff-coats continued to be worn by the city 
trained-bands till within the memory of persons 
now living, so that defensive armor may, in 
some measure, be said to have terminated in 
the same materials with which it began, that 
is, the skins of animals, or leather" (Grose's 
Military Antiquities, Lond. iSci, 4to, vol. ii. 

P- 323)- 

8. On his dark face a scorching chine, etc. In 
this character I have attempted to sketch one 
of those West Indian adventurers, who, during 
the course of the seventeenth century, were 
popularly known by the name of Buccaneers. 
The successes of the English in the predatory 
incursions upon Spanish America during the 
reign of Elizabeth had never been forgotten; 
and, from that period downward, the exploits 
of Drake and Raleigh were imitated, upon a 
smaller scale indeed, but with equally desperate 
valor, by small bands of pirates, gathered from 
all nations, but chiefly French and English. 
The engrossing policy of the Spaniards tended 
greatly to increase the number of these free- 
booters, from whom their commerce and colo- 
nies suffered, in the issue, dreadful calamity. 

12. On Marston heath, etc. The well-known 
and desperate battle of Long-Marston Moor, 
which terminated so unfortunately for the cause 



of Charles, commenced under very different 
auspices. Prince Rupert had marched with an 
army of twenty thousand men for the relief of 
York, then besieged by Sir Thomas Fairfax, at 
the head of the Parliamentary army, and the 
Earl of Leven, with the Scottish auxiliary 
forces. In this he so completely succeeded, 
that he compelled the besiegers to retreat to 
Marston Moor, a large open plain, about eight 
miles distant from the city. Thither they were 
followed by the Prince, who had now united to 
his army the garrison of York, probably not 
less than ten thousand men strong, under the 
gallant Marquis (then Earl) of Newcastle. 

Lord Clarendon informs us that the King, 
previous to receiving the true account of the 
battle, had been informed, by an express from 
Oxford, " that Prince Rupert had not only 
relieved York, but totally defeated the Scots, 
with many particulars to confirm it, all which 
was so much believed there, that they had 
made public fires of joy for the victory." 

19. 3/oncktoii and Mitton told the news, etc. 
Monckton and Mitton are villages near the 
river Ouse, and not very distant from the field 
of battle. The particulars of the action were 
violently disputed at the time. 

19. Stout Cromwell has redeemed the day. 
Cromwell, with his regiment of cuirassiers, had 
a principal share in turning the fate of the day 
at Marston Moor ; which was equally matter 
of triumph to the Independents, and of grief 
and heart-burning to the Presbyterians and to 
the Scottish. 

20. Of Pei-cy Rede the tragic song, etc. In a 
poem, entitled The Lay of the Reedwater Min- 
strel, Newcastle, 1809, this tale, with many others 
peculiar to the valley of the Reed, is com- 
memorated : "The particulars of the tradi- 
tional story of Parcy Reed of Troughend, and 
the Halls of Girsonfield, the author had from 
a descendant of the family of Reed. From his 
account, it appears that Percival Reed, Esquire, 
a keeper of Reedsdale, was betrayed by the 
Halls (hence denominated the false-hearted 
Ha's) to a band of moss troopers of the name 
of Crosier, who slew him at Batinghope, near 
the source of the Reed. 

"The Halls were, after the murder of Parcy 
Reed, held in such universal abhorrence and 
contempt by the inhabitants of Reedsdale, for 
their cowardly and treacherous behavior, that 
they were obliged to leave the country." In 
another passage we are informed that the ghost 
of the injured Borderer is supposed to haunt 
the banks of a brook called the Pringle. These 
Redes of Troughend were a very ancient family, 
as may be conjectured from their deriving their 
surname from the river on which they had their 
mansion. An epitaph on one of their tombs 
affirms that the family held their lands of 
Troughend, which are situated on the Reed, 
nearly opposite to Otterburn, for the incredible 
space of nine hundred years. 

20. And near the spot that gave me 7iame, etc. 
Risingham, ujion the river Reed, near the beau- 
tiful hamlet of Woodburn, is an ancient Roman 



6o8 



NOTES. 



station, formerly called Habitancum. Camden 
says, that in his time the popular account 
bore that it had been the abode of a deit}', or 
giant, called Magon ; and appeals, in support 
of this tradition, as well as to the etymology of 
Risingham, or Reisenham, which signifies, in 
German, the habitation of the giants, to two 
Roman altars taken out of the river, inscribed 
Deo Mogonti Cadenorum. About half a 
'mile distant from Risingham, upon an emi- 
nence covered with scattered birch-trees and 
fragments of rock, there is cut upon a large 
rock, in alto relievo, a remarkable figure, called 
Robin of Risingham, or Robin of Redesdale. 
It presents a hunter, with his bow raised in one 
hand, and in the other what seems to be a hare. 
There is a quiver at the back of the figure, and 
he is dressed in a long coat, or kirtle, coming 
down to the knees, and meeting close, with a 
girdle bound round him. Dr. Horseley, who 
saw all monuments of antiquity with Roman 
eyes, inclines to think this figure a Roman 
archer ; and certainly the bow is rather of the 
ancient size than of that which was so formi- 
dable in the hand of the English archers of the 
middle ages. But the rudeness of the whole 
figure prevents our founding strongly upon 
mere inaccuracy of proportion. The popular 
tradition is, that it represents a giant, whose 
brother resided at Woodburn, and he himself 
at Risingham. It adds, that they subsisted by 
hunting, and that one of them, finding the 
game become too scarce to support them, 
poisoned his companion, in whose memory the 
monument was engraved. 

21. The statutes of the Bncauieer. The " stat- 
utes of the Buccaneers " were, in reality, more 
equitable than could have been expected from 
the state of society under which they had been 
formed. They chiefly related, as may readily 
be conjectured, to the distribution and the in- 
heritance of their plunder. 

When the expedition was completed, the 
fund of prize-money acquired was thrown to- 
gether, each party taking his oath that he had 
retained or concealed no part of the common 
stock. If any one transgressed in this impor- 
tant particular, the punishment was, his being 
set ashore on some desert key or island, to shift 
for himself as he could. The owners of the 
vessel had then their share assigned for the ex- 
penses of the outfit. These were generally old 
pirates, settled at Tobago, Jamaica, St. Do- 
mingo, or some other French or English settle- 
ment. The surgeon's and carpenter's salaries, 
with the price of provisions and ammunition, 
were also defrayed. Then followed the com- 
pensation due to the maimed and wounded, 
rated according to the damage they had sus- 
tained ; as six hundred pieces of eight, or six 
slaves, for the loss of an arm or leg, and so in 
proportion. The remainder of the booty was 
divided into as many shares as there were Buc- 
caneers. The commander could only lay claim 
to a single share, as the rest; but they compli- 
mented him with two or three, in proportion as 
he had acquitted himself to their satisfaction. 



CANTO SECOND. 

3. The course of Tecs. The view from Bar- 
nard Castle commands the rich and magnificent 
valley of Tees. Immediately adjacent to the 
river, the banks are very thickly wooded ; at a 
little distance they are more open and culti- 
vated ; but, being interspersed with hedge- 
rows, and with isolated trees of great size 
and age, they still retain the richness of wood- 
land scenery. The river itself flows in a deep 
trench of solid rock, chiefly limestone and 
marble. 

4. Eglistoii's gray ruins. The ruins of this 
abbey, or priory, are beautifully situated upon 
the angle formed by a little dell called Thors- 
gill at its iunction with the Tees. Egliston 
was dedicated to Saint Mary and Saint John the 
Baptist, and is supposed to have been founded 
by Ralph de Multon about the end of Henry 
the Second's reign. 

5. J\aised by that Legion long rciumnied, etc. 
Close behind the George Inn at Greta Bridge, 
there is a well-preserved Roman encampment, 
surrounded with a triple ditch, lying between 
the river Greta and a brook called the Tutta. 
The four entrinces are easily to be discerned. 
Very manv Roman altars and monuments have 
been found in the vicinity. 

6. Rokelty's turrets high. This ancient manor 
long gave name to a family by whom it is said 
to have been possessed from the Conquest 
downward, and who are at different times dis- 
tinguished in history. It was the Baron of 
Rokeby who finally defeated the insurrection of 
the Earl of Northumberland, tempore Hen. IV. 
The Rokeby, or Rokesby family, continued 
to be distinguished until the great Civil War, 
when, having embraced the cause of Charles 
I., they suffered severely by fines and con- 
fiscations. 

7. A stern and lone, yet lovely road, etc. 
W^hat follows is an attempt to describe the 
romantic glen, or rather ravine, through which 
the Greta finds a passage between Rokeby and 
Mortham ; the former situated upon the left 
bank of Greta, the latter on the right bank, 
about half a mile nearer to its iunction with 
the Tees. The river runs with very great 
rapidity over a bed of solid rock, broken by 
many shelving descents, down which the stream 
dashes with great noise and impetuosity. 

II. JJozv -whistle rash bids tempests roar. That 
this is a general superstition, is well known to 
all who have been <m shipboard, or who have 
conversed with seamen. 

\i. Of Erich's cap and Elmo's light. " This 
Ericus,'King of Sweden, in his time was held 
second to none in the magical art ; and he was 
so familiar with the evil spirits, which he ex- 
ceedingly adored, that which way soever he 
turned his cap, the wind would presently blow 
that way. From this occasion he was called 
Windy Cap ; and many men believed that Reg- 
nerus. King of Denmark, by the conduct of this 
Ericus, who was his nephew, did happily ex- 
tend his piracy into the most remote parts of 



ROKEBY 



609 



the earth, and conquered many countries and 
fenced cities by his cunning, and at last was 
his coadjutor ; that by the consent of the no- 
t)les, he should be chosen King of Sweden, 
which continued a long time with liini very 
happily, until he died of old age " {Olaus Mag- 
nus, p. 45). 

11. The Demon Frigate. This is an allusion 
to a well-known nautical superstition concerning 
a fantastic vessel, called by sailors the " Flying 
Dutchman," and supposed to be seen about the 
latitude of the Cape of Good Hope. She is 
distinguished from earthly vessels by bearing a 
press of sail when all others are unable, from 
stress of weather, to show an inch of canvas. 
The cause of her wandering is not altogether 
certain ; but the general account is, that she 
was originally a vessel loaded with great wealth, 
on board of which some horrid act of murder 
and piracy had been committed ; that the plague 
broke out among the wicked crew who had per- 
petrated the crime, and that they sailed in vain 
from port to port, offering, as the price of shel- 
ter, the whole of their ill-gotten wealth ; that 
they were excluded from every harbor, for fear 
of the contagion which was devouring them ; 
and that, as a punishment of their crimes, the 
apparition of the ship still continues to haunt 
those seas in which the catastrophe took place, 
and is considered by the mariners as the worst 
of all possible omens. 

12. By some desert isle or key. What con- 
tributed much to the security of the Buccaneers 
about the Windward Islands was the great num- 
ber of little islets, called in that country keys. 
These are small sandy patches, appearing just 
above the surface ot the ocean, covered only 
with a few bushes and weeds, but sometimes 
affording springs of water, and, in general, 
much frequented by turtle. Such little unin- 
habited spots afforded the pirates good har- 
bours, either for refitting or for the purpose of 
ambush ; thev were occasionally the hiding- 
place of their treasure, and often afforded a 
shelter to themselves. 

16. Before the gate of JMortham stood. The 
castle of Mortham, which Leland terms " Mr. 
Rokesby's Place, in ripa citcr, scant a quarter 
of a mile from Greta Bridge, and not a quarter 
of a mile beneath into Tees," is a picturesque 
tower, surrounded by buildmgs of different ages, 
now converted into a farm-house and offices. 
The situation of Mortham is eminently beauti- 
ful, occupying a high bank, at the bottom of 
which the Greta winds out of the dark, narrow, 
and romantic dell, which the text has attempted 
to describe, and flows onward through a more 
open valley to meet the Tees about a quarter 
of a mile from the castle. 

18. There dig, and tomb your precious heap, 
etc. If time did not permit the Buccaneers to 
lavish away their plunder in their usual de- 
baucheries, they were wont to hide it, with 
many superstitious solemnities, in the desert 
islands and keys which they frequented, and 
where much treasure, whose lawless owners 
perished without reclaiming it, is still supposed 



to be concealed. They killed a Negro or Span- 
iard, and buried him with the treasure, believ- 
ing that his spirit would haunt the spot, and 
terrify away all intruders. I cannot jjroduce 
any other authority on which this custom is 
ascribed to them than that of maritime tradi- 
tion, which is, however, amply sufficient for the 
purposes of poetry. 

19. A7id force him as by magic spell, etc. All 
who are conversant with the administration ol 
criminal justice must remember many occa- 
sions in which malefactors appear to have con- 
ducted themselves with a species of infatuation, 
either by making unnecessary confidences re- 
specting their guilt, or by sudden and involun- 
tary allusions to circumstances by which it could 
not fail to be ex])osed. A remarkable instance 
occurred in the celebrated case of Eugene Aram. 
It happened to the author himself, while con- 
versing with a jjerson accused of an atrocious 
crime, for the purpose of rendering him profes- 
sional assistance upon his trial, to hear the pris- 
oner, after the most solemn and reiterated 
protestations that he was guiltless, suddenly, 
and, as it were, involuntarily, in the course of 
his communications, make such an admission as 
was altogether incompatible with innocence. 

28. Brackeubury's dismal to7ver. This tower 
is situated near the northeastern extremity of 
the wall which encloses Barnard Castle, and is 
traditionally said to have been the prison. 

31. Right heazy shall his ra?iso}n be, etc. After 
the battle of Marston Moor, the Earl of New- 
castle retired beyond sea in disgust, and many 
of his followers laid down their arms and made 
the best composition they could with the Com- 
mittees of Parliament. Fines were imposed 
upon them in proportion to their estates and de- 
grees of delinquency, and these fines were often 
bestowed upon such persons as had deserved 
well of the Commons. In some circumstances 
it happened that the oppressed cavaliers were 
fain to form family alliances with some power- 
ful person among the triumphant party. 



CANTO THIRD. 

2. In Redesdale his youth had heard, ^\.z. The 
inhabitants of the valleys of Tyne and Reed 
were, in ancient times, so inordinately addicted 
to these depredations, that in 1564 the Incor- 
porated Merchant-adventurers of Newcastle 
made a law that none born in these districts 
should be admitted apprentice. The inhab- 
itants are stated to be so generally addicted to 
rapine that no faith should be reposed in those 
proceeding from " such lewde and wicked pro- 
genitors." This regulation continued to stand 
unrepealed until 1771. A beggar, in an old 
play, describes himself as " born in Redesdale, 
in Northumberland, and come of a wight-riding 
surname called the Robsons, good honest men 
and true, saving a little shifting for their living, 
God help them !" — a description which would 
have applied to most Borderers on both sides. 



39 



6io 



NOTES. 



Rcidswair, famed for a skirmish to which it 
gives name, is on the very edge of the Carter- 
fell, which divides England from Scotland. 
The Rookeii is a place upon Reedwater. 

4. Hiding his face, lest foenien spy, etc. After 
one of the recent battles, in which the Irish 
rebels were defeated, one of their most active 
leaders was found in a bog, in which he was 
immersed up to the shoulders, while his head 
was concealed by an impending ledge of turf. 
Being detected and seized, notwithstanding his 
precaution, he became solicitous to know how 
his retreat had been discovered. " 1 caught," 
answered the Sutherland Highlander by whom 
he was taken, " the sparkle of your eye." 

II. Of my ?naraiidiiig on the clozvns, etc. The 
troops of the king, when they first took the field, 
were as well disciplined as could be expected 
from circumstances. But as the circumstances 
of Charles became less favorable, and his 
funds for regularly paying liis forces decreased, 
habits of military license prevailed among them 
in greater excess. Lacy the player, who served 
his master during the Civil War, brought out 
after the Restoration, a piece called The Old 
Troop, in which he seems to have commemo- 
rated some real incidents which occurred in his 
military career. The names of the officers of 
the Troop sufficiently express their habits. 
We have Flea-flint Plunder-Master-General, 
Captain Ferret-farm, and Quarter-Master Burn- 
drop. The officers of the Troop are in league 
with these worthies, and connive at their plun- 
dering the country for a suitable share in the 
booty. All this was undoubtedly drawn from 
the life, which Lacy had an opportunity to 
study. 

14. BtignalVs woods, and ScargilPs wave, etc. 
The banks of the Greta, below Rutherford 
Bridge, abound in seams of grayish slate, which 
are wrought in some places to a very great 
depth under ground, thus forming artificial 
caverns, which, when the seam has been ex- 
hausted, are gradually hidden by the under- 
wood which grows in profusion upon the ro- 
mantic banks of the river. In times of public 
confusion, they might be well adapted to the 
purposes of banditti. 

20. When Spain %v aged warfare 7vith our land. 
There was a short war with Spain in 1625-26, 
which will be found to agree pretty well with 
the chronology of the poem. But probably 
Bertram held an opinion very common among 
the maritime heroes of the age, that "there 
was no peace beyond the Line." The Spanish 
giiarda-costas were constantly employed in ag- 
gressions upon the trade and settlements of 
the English and French ; and, by their own 
severities, gave room for the system of bucca- 
neering, at first adopted in self-defence and re- 
taliation, afid afterwards persevered in from 
habit and thirst of plunder. 

23. Our comrade's strife. The laws of the 
Buccaneers, and their successors the Pirates, 
however severe and equitable, were, like other 
laws, often set aside by the stronger party. 
Their quarrels about the division of the spoil 



fill their history, and they as frequently arose 
out of rnere frolic, or the' tyrannical humor of 
their chiefs. 

28. Adieu for evermore. The last verse of 
this song is taken from the fragment of an old 
Scottish ballad which seems to express the for- 
tunes of some follower of the Stuart family. 

30. Rere-cross on Stanmore. This is a frag- 
ment of an old cross, with its pediment, sur- 
rounded by an intrenchment, upon the very 
summit of the waste ridge of Stanmore, near a 
small house of entertainment called the Spittal. 
The situation of the cross, and the pains taken 
to defend it, seem to indicate that it was in- 
tended for a landmark of importance. 



CANTO FOURTH. 

I. When Denmark'' s raven soared on high, 
etc. About the year of God 866 the Danes, 
under their celebrated leaders Inguar (more 
properly Agnar) and Hubba, — sons, it is said, 
of the still more celebrated Regnar Lodbrog, — 
invaded Northumberland, bringing with them 
the magical standard, so often mentioned in 
poetry, called Reafen, or Rumfan, from its bear- 
ing the figure of a raven. The Danes renewed 
and extended their incursions, and began to 
colonize, establishing a kind of capital at York, 
from which they spread their conquests and in- 
cursions in every direction. Stanmore, which 
divides the ir.ountains of Westmoreland and 
Cumberland, was probably the boundary of 
the Danish kingdom in that direction. The 
district to the west, known in ancient British 
history by the name of Reged, had never been 
conquered by the Saxons, and continued to 
maintain a precarious independence until it 
was ceded to Malcolm, King of Scots, by 
William the Conqueror. 

I. Beneath the shade the N'orthmen came, etc. 
The heathen Danes have left several traces of 
their religion in the upper part of Teesdale. 
Balder-garth, which derives its name from the 
unfortunate son of Odin, is a tract of waste 
land on the very ridge of Stanmore ; and a 
brook, which falls into the Tees near Barnard 
Castle, is named after the same deity. A field 
upon the banks of the Tees is also termed Wo- 
den-Croft, from the supreme deity of the Edda. 
Thorsgill, of which a description is attem]3ted 
in stanza 2, is a beautiful little brook and 
dell, running up behind the ruins of Egliston 
Abbe v. 

6. Who has not heard hoiu brave O'jVeale, etc. 
The O'Neale here meant, for more than one 
succeeded to the chieftainship during the reign 
of Elizabeth, was Hugh, the grandson of Con 
O'Neale, called Con Bacco, or the Lame. His 
father, Matthew O'Kelly, was illegitimate, and, 
being the son of a blacksmith's wife, was usually 
called Matthew the Blacksmith. His fatlier, 
nevertheless, destined his succession to him ; 
and he was created, by Elizabeth, Baron of 
Dungannon. Upon the death of Con Bacco, 



ROKEBY. 



6il 



this Matthew was slain by his brother. Hugh 
narrowly escaped the same fate, and was pro- 
tected by the English. Shane O'Neale, his 
uncle, called Shane Dymas, was succeeded by 
Turlough Lynogh O'Neale ; after whose death 
Hugh, having assumed the chieftainship, became 
nearly as formidable to the English as any by 
whom it had been possessed. Lord Mountjoy 
succeeded in finally subjugating O'Neale; but 
it was not till the succession of James, to whom 
he made personal submission, and was received 
with civility at court. 

The Taiiist he to great O'Neale. " It is a cus- 
tom amongst all the Irish, that presently after 
the death of one of their chiefe lords or cap- 
taines, they doe presently assemble themselves 
to a place generally appointed and knowne unto 
them, to choose another in his stead, where 
they do nominate and elect, for the most part 
not the eldest sonne, nor any of the children of 
the lord deceased, but the ne.\t to him in blood, 
that is, the eldest and worthiest, as commonly 
the next brother unto him, if he have any, or 
the next cousin, or so forth, as any is elder in 
that kindred or sept ; and then next to them 
doe they choose the next of the blood to be 
Tanist, who shall next succeed him in the said 
captainry, if he live thereunto" (Spenser's Ire- 
land). The Tanist, therefore, of O'Neale, was 
the heir-apparent of his power. This kind of 
succession appears also to have regulnted, in 
very remote times, the succession to the crown 
of Scotland. It would have been imprudent, if 
not impossible, to have asserted a minor's right 
of succession in those stormy days. 

14. Gr-eat Nial of the Pledges Nine. Neal 
Naighvallach, or Of the Nine Hostages, is said 
to have been monarch of all Ireland, during the 
end of the fourth or beginning of the fifth cen- 
tury. He exercised a predatory warfare on the 
coast of England and of Bretagne, or Armorica ; 
and from the latter country brought off the cele- 
brated Saint Patrick, a youth of sixteen, among 
other captives, whom he transported to Ireland. 
Neal derived his epithet from nine nations, or 
tribes, whom he held under his subjection, and 
from whom he took hostages. 

14. Shane-Dymas wild. This Shane-Uymas, 
or John the Wanton, held the title and power 
of O'Neale in the earlier part of Elizabeth's 
reign, against whom he rebelled repeatedly. 
When reduced to extremity by the English, and 
forsaken by his allies, this Shane-Dymas fled to 
Clandeboy, then occupied by a colony of Scot- 
tish Highlanders of the family of MacDonell. 
He was at first courteously received; but by 
degrees they began to quarrel about the slaugh- 
ter of some of their friends whom Shane-Dymas 
had put to death, and advancing from words to 
deeds, fell upon him with their broadswords, 
and cut him to pieces. After his death a law 
was made that none should presume to take the 
name and title of O'Neale. 



14. Geraldine. The O'Neales were closely 
allied with this powerful and warlike family; 
for Henry Owen O'Neale married the daughter 
of Thomas, Earl of Kildare, and their son Con 
More married his cousin-german, a daughter of 
Gerald, Earl of Kildare. This Con More cursed 
any of his posterity who should learn the Eng- 
lish language, sow corn, or build houses, so as 
to invite the English to settle in their country. 
Others ascribe this anathema to his son Con 
Bacco. 

16. His page, the next degree, etc. Originally, 
the order of chivalry embraced three ranks : 
I. The Page; 2. The Squire; 3. The Knight, — 
a gradation which seems to have been imitated 
in the mystery of freemasonry. But, before 
the reign of Charles I., the custom of serving 
as a squire had fallen into disuse, though the 
order of the page was still, to a certain degree, 
in observance. This state of servitude was so 
far from inferring anything degrading, that it 
was considered as the regular school for ac- 
quiring every quality necessary for future dis- 
tinction. 



CANTO FIFTH. 

3. Seemed half-abando)ied to decay. The an- 
cient castle of Rokeby stood exactly upon the 
site of the present mansion, by which a part of 
its walls is enclosed. It is surrounded by a 
profusion of fine wood, and the park in which 
it stands is adorned by the junction of the 
Greta and of the Tees. 

10. The Filea of ONeale was he. The Filea, 
or Oilamh Re Dan, was the proper bard, or, as 
the name literally implies, poet. Each chieftain 
of distinction had one or more in his service, 
whose office was usually hereditary. 

10. Ah, Clandeboy! thy friendly floor, etc. 
Clandeboy is a district of Ulster, formerly pos- 
sessed by the sept of the O'Neales, and Slieve- 
Donard, a romantic mountain in the same prov- 
ince. The clan was ruined after Tyrone's great 
rebellion, and their places of abode laid deso- 
late. The ancient Irish, wild and uncultivated 
in other respects, did not yield even to their 
descendants in practising the most free and 
extended hospitality. 



CANTO SIXTH. 

32. A horseman armed, at headlong speed, etc. 
This, and what follows, is taken from a real 
achievement of Major Robert Philipson, called 
from his desperate and adventurous courage, 
Robin the Devil. 



6l2 



NOTES. 



Cl)e BriHal of (ZDriermain. 



This poem was published in March, 1S13, 
and the first edition had the following preface : 

" In the Edinburgh Atimial Register for the 
year 1809, Three Fragments were inserted, 
written in imitation of Living Poets. It must 
have been apparent that by these prolusions 
nothing burlesque or disrespectful to the authors 
was intended, but that they were offered to the 
public as serious, though certainly very imper- 
fect, imitations of that style of composition by 
which each of the writers is supposed to be 
distinguished. As these exercises attracted a 
greater degree of attention than the author an- 
ticipated, he has been induced to complete one 
of them and present it as a separate publication. 

" It is not in this place that an examination 
of the works of the master whom he has here 
adopted as his model, can, with propriety, be 
introduced ; since his general acquiescence in 
the favorable suffrage of the public must neces- 
sarily be inferred from the attempt he has now 
made. He is induced, by the nature of his sub- 
ject, to offer a few remarks on what has been 
called ro))iantic poetry ; the popularity of which 
has been revived in the present day, under the 
auspices, and by the unparalleled success, of 
one individual. 

"The original purpose of poetry is either 
religious or historical, or, as must frequently 
happen, a mixture of both. To modern readers 
the poems of Homer have many of the features 
of pure romance ; but in the estimation of his 
contemporaries, they probably derived their 
chief value from their supposed historical au- 
thenticity. The same may be generally said of 
the poetry of all early ages. The marvels and 
miracles which the poet blends with his song, 
do not exceed in number or extravagance the 
figments of the historians of the same period of 
society ; and, indeed, the difference betwixt 
poetry and prose, as the vehicles of historical 
truth, is always of late introduction. Poets, 
under various denominations of Bards, Scalds, 
Chroniclers, and 5"o forth, are the first historians 
of all nations. Their intention is to relate the 
events they have witnessed, or the traditions 
that have reached them ; and they clothe the 
relation in rhyme, merely as the means of ren- 
dering it more solemn in the narrative, or more 
easily committed to memory. But as the poeti- 
cal historian improves in the art of conveying 
information, the authenticity of his narrative 
unavoidably declines. He is tempted to dilate 
and dwell upon the events that are interesting 
to his imagination, and, conscious how in- 
different his audience is to the naked truth 
of his poem, his history gradually becomes a 
romance. 

" It is in this situation that those epics are 
found, which have been generally regarded the 
standards of poetry ; and it has happened some- 
what strangely that the moderns have pointed 



out as the characteristics and peculiar excellen- 
cies of narrative poetry, the very circumstances 
which the authors themselves adopted, only 
because their art involved the duties of the 
historian as well as the poet. It cannot be 
believed, for example, that Homer selected the 
siege of Troy as the most appropriate subject 
for poetry ; his purpose was to write the early 
history of his country ; the event he has chosen, 
though not very fruitful in varied incident, nor 
perfectly well adapted for poetry, was neverthe- 
less combined with traditionary and genealogi- 
cal anecdotes extremely interesting to those 
who were to listen to him ; and this he has 
adorned by the exertions of a genius which, if 
it has been equalled, has certainly been never 
surpassed. It was not till comparatively a late 
period that the general accuracy of his narra- 
tive, or his purpose in composing it, was brought 
into question. Ao/ce? TrpcSros \o '' kvo.ifi.y6pa.^\ 
(«:o6a <py\iji ^afiopivos 4v TravToSaTrrj 'IcTopia) ri/v 
'0/xT]pou ■no[7)aiv aTrocprivaadai flvai irepl aperris 
Ka\ StKatoavvTjs-^ But whatever theories might 
be framed by speculative men, his work was of 
an historical, not of an allegorical nature. 
^EvavriWfTO fifTO. rov MeVreco Koi ottov eKacnoTe 
a,(p(Koiro, Tzavra to. eTri;^aJpia 5(€pcoTOTO, Koi la- 
Topewv iirvfOdvero' fiKhs 5e fiLV rfv Ka\ fivrtfj-Offiivriv 
■navroov ypa.(peffdaL- Instead of recommending 
the choice of a subject similar to that of Homer, 
it was to be expected that critics should have 
exhorted the poets of these latter days to adopt 
or invent a narrative in itself more susceptible 
of poetical ornament, and to avail themselves 
of that advantage in order to compensate, in 
some degree, the inferiority of genius. The con- 
trary course has been inculcated by almost all 
the writers upon the Efopaia ; with what suc- 
cess, the fate of Homer's numerous imitators 
may best show. The ultimiiiii siippliciimi of 
criticism was inflicted on the author if he did 
not choose a subject which at once deprived 
him of all claim to originality, and placed him, 
if not in actual contest, at least in fatal com- 
parison, with those giants in the land whom it 
was most his interest to avoid. The celebrated 
receipt for writing an epic poem, which appeared 
in Tlie Guardian^ was the first instance in 

' Diogenes Laertius, lib. ii. Anaxag. Segm. II. 

- Homeri Vita, in Herod. Henr. Stepk. 1570, p. 356. 

'■'' A RECEIPT TO MAKE AN EPIC POEM. 
FOR THE FABKE. 

" Take out of any old poem, history book, romance, or 
legend (for instance, Geoffry of Monmouth, or Don Beli- 
atiis of Greece), those parts of story which afford most 
scope for long descriptions. Put these pieces together, and 
throw all the adventures you fancy into one tale. Then 
take a hero whom you may choose for the sound of his 
name, and put him into the midst of these adventures. 
There let him work for twelve books ; at the end of which 
you may take him out ready prepared to conqueror marry, 
it being necessary that the conclusion of an epic poem be 
fortunate." 

To make an Episode. — " Take any remaining adven- 
ture of your former collection, in which you could no way 



THE BRIDAL OF TRJERMAIN. 



613 



which coiiunon sense was applied to this de- 
partment of poetry ; and, indeed, if the question 
be considered on its own merits, we must be 
satisfied that narrative poetry, if strictly con- 
fined to the great occurrences of history, would 
be deprived of the individual interest which it 
is so well calculated to excite. 

" Modern poets may therefore be pardoned in 
seeking simpler subjects of verse, more inter- 
esting in proportion to their simplicity. Two 
or three figures, well grouped, suit the artist 
better than a crowd, for whatever purpose 
assembled. For the same reason, a scene im- 
mediately presented to the imagination, and 
directly brought home to the feelings, though 
involving the fate of but one or two persons, 
is more favorable for poetry than the political 
struggles and convulsions which influence the 
fate of kingdoms. The former are within the 
reach and comprehension of all, and, if de- 
picted with vigor, seldom fail to fix attention : 
The other, if more sublime, are more vague 
and distant, less capable of being distinctly un- 
derstood, and infinitely less capable of exciting 
those sentiments which it is the very purpose 
of poetry to inspire. To generalize is always 
to destroy effect. We would, for example, be 
more interested in the fate of an individual 
soldier in combat, than in the grand event of 



a general action ; with the happiness of two 
lovers raised from misery and anxiety to peace 
and union, than with the successful exertions 
of a whole nation. From what causes this 
may originate, is a separate and obviously an 
immaterial consideration. Before ascribing this 
peculiarity to causes decidedly and odiously 
selfish, it is proper to recollect that while men 
see only a limited space, and while their affec- 
tions and conduct are regulated, not by aspir- 
ing to an universal good, but by exerting their 
power of making themselves and others happy 
within the limited scale allotted to each in- 
dividual, so long will individual history and 
individual virtue be the readier and more ac- 
cessible road to general interest and attention; 
and, perhaps, we may add, that it is the more 
useful, as well as the' more accessible, inasmuch 
as it affords an example capable of being easilv 
imitated. 

" According to the author's idea of Romantic 
Poetry, as distinguished from Epic, the former 
comprehends a fictitious narrative, framed and 
combined at the pleasure of the writer ; begin- 
ning and ending as he may judge best ; which 
neither exacts nor refuses the use of supernatu- 
ral machinery; which is free from thetechnical 
rules of the Epee ; and is subject only to those 
which good sense, good taste, and good morals. 



involve your hero, or any unfortunate accident that was 
too good to be thrown away, and it will be of use, applied 
to any other person, who may be lost and evaporate in the 
course of the work, without the least damage to the com- 
position." 

For ilie IMoral atid Allegory. — "These you may ex- 
tract out of the fable afterwards at your leisure. Be sure 
you strain them sufficiently." 

FOR THE MANNERS. 

" For those of the hero, take all the best qualities you 
can find in all the celebrated heroes of antiquity ; if they 
will not be reduced to a consistency, lay them all on a 
heap upon him. Be sure they are qualities which your 
patron would be thought to have ; and, to prevent any 
mistake which the world may be subject to, select from the 
alphabet those capital letters that compose his name, and 
set them at the head of a dedication before your poem. 
However, do not absolutely observe the exact quantity of 
these virtues, it not being determined whether or not it be 
necessary for the hero of a poem to be an honest man. 
For the under characters, gather them from Homer and 
Virgil, and change the names as occasion serves." 

FOR THE MACHINES. 

" Take of deities, male and Jemale, as many as you 
can use. Separate them into equal parts, and keep Jupiter 
in the middle. Let Juno put hmi in a ferment, and Venus 
mollify him. Remember on all occasions to make use of 
volatile Mercury. If you have need of devils, draw them 
out of Milton's Paradise, and extract your spirits from 
Tasso. The use of these machines is evident, for since an 
epic poem can possibly subsist without them, the wisest 
way is to reserve them for your greatest necessities. When 
you cannot extricate your hero by any human means, or 
yourself by your own wits, seek relief from Heaven, and 
the gods will do your business very readily. This is ac- 
cording to the direct prescription of Horace in his Art of 
Poetry : — 

' Nee Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindiee nodus 
Inciderit.' — Verse 191. 

* Never presume to make a gjod appear 
But for a business worthy of a god.' — ROSCOMMON. 

That is to say, a poet should never call upon the gods for 
their assistance, but when he is in great perplexity." 



FOR THE DESCRIPTIONS. 

For a Tevtpest. — "Take Eurus, Zephyr, Auster, and 
Boreas, and cast them together into one verse. Add to 
these of rain, lightning, and of thunder (the loudest you 
can), Quantum siifficit. Mix your clouds and billows well 
together until they foam, and thicken your description here 
and there with a quicksand. Brew your tempest well in 
your head before you set it a blowing." 

For a Battle- — " Pick a large quantity of images and 
descriptions from Homer's Iliad, with a spice or two of 
Virgil, and if there remain any overplus, you may lay them 
by for a skirmish. Season it well with similes, and it will 
make an excellent battle." 

For a BiirjiiHg Town. — " If such a description be 
necessary, because it is certain there is one in Virgil, Old 
Troy is ready burnt to your hands. But if you fear that 
would be thought borrowed, a chapter or two of the Theory 
of Conflagration,* well circumstanced, and done into verse, 
will be good succedaneum." 

Xs/or similes and mcta/>hors, "they may be found all 
over the creation. The most ignorant may gather them, 
but the danger is in applying them. For this, advise with 
your bookseller." 

FOR THE LANGUAGE. 

(I mean the diction.) "Here it will do well to be an 
imitator of Milton ; for you will find it easier to imitate 
him in this than anything else. Hebraisms and Grecisms 
are to be found in him without the trouble of learning the 
languages. I knew a painter who (like our poet) had no 
genius, make his daubings to be thought originals, by 
setting them in the smoke. You may, in the same manner, 
give the venerable air of antiquity to your piece, by darken- 
ing up and down like Old English. With thisyoii may be 
easily furnished upcm any occasion, by the Dictionary 
commonly printed at the end of Chaucer " 

" I must not conclude without cautioning all writers 
without genius in one material point, which is, never to 
be afraid of having too much fire in their works. I should 
advise rather to take their warmest thoughts, and spread 
them abroad upon paper ; for they are observed to cool 
before they are read." - Pope, The Guardian, No. 78. 

* From Lib. iii. De Conflti^ratione Mundi, or Telluris Tluoria 
Sacra, published in 4to, 1689. By Dr. Thomas Burnet, master of 
the Charter-House. 



6i4 



NOTES. 



apply to every species of poetry without excep- 
tion. The date may be in a remote age, or in 
the present ; the story may detail the adven- 
tures of a prince or of a peasant. In a word, 
the author is absolute master of his country 
and its inhabitants, and everything is permitted 
to him, excepting to be heavy or prosaic, for 
which, free and unembarrassecl as he is, he has 
no manner of apology. Those, it is probable, 
will be found the peculiarities of this species 
of composition ; and before joining the outcry 
against the vitiated taste that fosters and en- 
courages it, the justice and grounds of it ought 
to be made perfectly apparent. If the want of 
sieges and battles and great military evolutions, 
in our poetry, is complained of, let us reflect 
that the campaigns and heroes of our days are 
perpetuated in a record that neither requires 
nor admits of the aid of fiction ; and if the 
complaint refers to the inferiority of our bards, 
let us pay a just tribute to their modesty, limit- 
ing them, as it does, to subjects which, however 
indifferently treated have still the interest and 
charm of novelty, and which thus prevents them 
from adding insipidity to their other more in- 
superable defects."! 



CANTO FIRST. 

I. The Baron of Triermain. Triermain was 
a fief of the Barony of Gilsland, in Cumber- 
land; it was possessed by a Saxon family at 

' " In all this we cheerfully acquiesce, without abating 
anything of our former hostility to the modern Roinaunt 
style, which is founded on very different principles. Noth- 
ing is, in our opinion, so dangerous to tlie very existence 
of poetry as the extreme laxity of rule and consequent fa- 
cility of composition, which are its principal characteristics. 
Our very admission in favor of that license of plot and 
conduct which is claimed by the Romance writers, ought 
to render us so much the more guarded in extending the 
privilege to the minor poets of composition and versifica- 
tion. The removal of all technical bars and impediments 
sets wide open the gates of Parnassus ; and so much the 
better. We dislike mystery quite as much in matters of 
taste as of politics and religion. But let us not, in open- 
ing the door, pull down the wall, and level the very founda- 
tion of the edifice " {Critical Revietv, 1813). 

" in the same letter in which William Erskine acknowl- 
edges the receipt of the first four pages of Rokeby, he ad- 
verts also to the Bridal of Triermain as being already in 
rapid progress. The fragments of this second poem, in- 
serted in the Register of the preceding year, had attracted 
considerable notice; the secret of their authorship had 
been well kept ; and by some means, even in the shrewdest 
circles of Edinburgh, the belief had become prevalent that 
they jiroceeded not from .Scott but from Erskine. -Scott 
had no sooner completed his bargain as to the copyright 
of the unwritten Rokeby, than he resolved to pause from 
time to time in its composition, and weave those fragments 
into a shorter and lighter romance, executed in a different 
metre, and to be published anonymously in a small pocket 
volume, as nearly as possible on the same day with the 
avowed quarto. He expected great amusement from the 
comparisons which the critics would no doubt indulge 
themselves in drawing between himself and this humble 
candidate; and Erskine gtjod-humoredly entered into 
the scheme, undertaking to do nothing which should ef- 
fectually suppress the notion of his having set himself up 
as a modest rival to his friend " {Li/e of Scott, vol. iv. 
p. 12). 



the time of the Conquest, but, "after the death 
of Gilmore, Lord of Tryermaine and Toreros- 
sock, Hubert Vau.x gave Tryermaine and Tor- 
crossock to his second son, Ranulph Vaux; 
which Ranulph afterwards became heir to his 
elder brother Robert, the founder of Lanercost, 
who died without issue. Ranulph, being Lord 
of all Gilsland, ga.e Gilmore 's lands to his 
younger son, named Roland, and let the Barony 
descend to his eldest son Robert, son of Ra- 
nulph. Roland had issue Alexander, and he 
Ranulph, after whom succeeded Robert, and 
they were named Rolands successively, that 
were lords thereof, until the reign of Edward 
the Fourth" (Burn's Antiquities of Westmore- 
land and Cumberland, vol. ii. p. 4S2). 

6. Duiimailraise. This is one of the grand 
passes froin ("umberland into Westmoreland. 
It takes its name from a cairn, or pile of stones, 
erected, it is said, to the memory of Dunmail, 
the last King of Cumberland. 

7. He passed Red Penrith'' s Table Round. A 
circular intrenchment, about half a mile from 
Penrith, is thus popularly termed. The circle 
within the ditch is about one hundred and 
sixty paces in circumference, with openings, or 
approaches, directly opposite to each other. As 
the ditch is on the inner side, it could not be 
intended for the purpose of defence, and it has 
reasonably been conjectured, that the enclosure 
was designed for the solemn exercise of feats 
of chivalry, and the embankment around for 
the convenience of the spectators. 

7. Mayb!trgh''s mound. Higher up the river 
Eamont than Arthur's Round Table, is a pro- 
digious enclosure of great antiquity, formed by 
a collection of stones upon the top of a gently 
sloping hill, called Mayburgh. In the plain 
which it encloses there stands erect an unhewn 
stone of twelve feet in height. Two similar 
masses are said to have been destroyed during 
the memory of man. The whole appears to be 
a monument of Druidical times. 

ID. That sable tarn, etc. The small lake 
called Scales-tarn lies so deeply embosomed 
in the recesses of the huge mountain called 
Saddleback, more poetically Glaramara, is of 
such great depth, and so completely hidden 
from the sun, that it is said its beams never 
reach it, and that the reflection of the stars 
may be seen at inid-day. 

15. Calibtirn's resistless brand. This was the 
name of King Arthur's well-known sword, some- 
times also called E.xcalibar. 

17. Tintadgel's sfear. Tintadgel Castle, in 
Cornwall, is reported to have been the birth- 
place of King Arthur. 



CANTO SECOND. 

ID. Fiery dew, etc. The author has an indis- 
tinct recollection of an adventure, somewhat 
similar to that which is here ascribed to King 
Arthur, having befallen one of the ancient 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



615 



Kings of Denmark. The horn in whicli the 
burning liquor was presented to that monarch 
is said still to be preserved in the Royal 
Museum at Copenhagen. 

10. The RIo)iarch, breathless and amazed, etc. 
" We now gained a view of the Vale of St. 
John's, a very narrow dell, hemmed in by 
mountains, through which a small brook makes 
many meanderings, washing little enclosures 
of grass-ground, which stretch up the rising of 
the hills. In the widest part of the dale you 
are struck with the appearance of an ancient 
ruined castle, which seems to stand upon the 
summit of a little mount, the mountains around 
forming an amphitheatre. This massive bul- 
wark shows a front of various towers, and 
makes an awful, rude, and Gothic appearance, 
with its lofty turrets and ragged battlements; 
we traced the galleries, the bending arches, the 
buttresses. The greatest antiquity stands char- 
acterized in its architecture ; the inhabitants 
near it assert it is an antediluvian structure. 

"The traveller's curiosity is roused, and he 
prepares to make a nearer approach, when that 
curiosity is put upon the rack by his being 
assured that if he advances, certain genii who 
govern the place, by virtue of their super- 
natural art and necromancy, will strip it of all 
its beauties, and by enchantment transform the 



magic walls. The vale seems adapted for the 
habitation of such beings ; its gloomy recesses 
and retirements look like haunts of evil spirits. 
There was no delusion in the report ; we were 
soon convinced of its truth ; for this piece of 
antiquity, so venerable and noble in its aspect, 
as we drew near, changed its figure, and proved 
no other than a shaken massive pile of rocks, 
which stand in the midst of this little vale, dis- 
united from the adjoining mountains, and have 
so much the real form and resemblance of a 
castle, that they bear the name of the Castle 
Rocks of St. John " {//iiUhi/ison's Exciirsioti 
to the Lakes, p. 121). 

13. The flcrwer of Chivalry, Q\.c. The characters 
named in the stanza are all of them more or 
less distinguished in the romances which treat 
of King Arthur and his Round Table. 

18. Carodac. See the comic tale of the Boy 
and the Mantle, in the third volume of Percy's 
Reliques of Aneiejzt Poetry, from the Breton 
or Norman original of which Ariosto is sup- 
posed to have taken his Tale of the E7ichanted 
Clip. 

Conclusion, 4. Whose logic is from " Single- 
Speech.^' See Parliamentary Logic, etc., by 
the Right Honorable William Gerard Hamil- 
ton (1808), commonly called "Single-Speech 
Hamilton." 



Ci)e Horn of i\)z isles. 



The composition of The Lord of the Isles, as 
we now have it in the author's MS., seems to 
have been begun at Abbotsford in the autumn 
of 1814, and it ended at Edinburgh the i6th of 
December. Some part of Canto I. had proba- 
bly been committed to writing in a rougher form 
earlier in the year. The original quarto ap- 
peared on the 2d of January, 181 5. 

The edition of 1833 contained the following 
introduction : — 

" I could hardly have chosen a subject more 
popular in Scotland than anything connected 
with the Bruce 's history, unless I had attempted 
that of Wallace. But I am decidedly of opin- 
ion that a popular, or what is called a taking, 
title, though well qualified to ensure the pub- 
lishers against loss, and clear their shelves of 
the original impression, is rather apt to be 
hazardous than otherwise to the reputation of 
the author. He who attempts a subject of dis- 
tinguished popularity has not the privilege of 
awakening the enthusiasm of his audience ; on 
the contrary, it is already awakened, and glows, 
it may be, more ardently than that of the author 
himself. In this case the warmth of the author 
is inferior to that of the party whom he ad- 
dresses, who has therefore little chance of be- 
ing, in Bayes's phrase, ' elevated and surprised ' 



by what he has thought of with more enthusi- 
asm than the writer. The sense of this risk, 
joined to the consciousness of striving against 
wind and tide, made the task of comjjosing the 
proposed Poem somewhat heavy and hoi^eless; 
but, like the prize-fighter in As You Like It, 
I was to wrestle for my reputation, and not 
neglect any advantage. In a most agreeable 
pleasure-voyage, which I have tried to com- 
memorate in the Introduction to the new 
edition of the Pirate, I visited, in social and 
friendly company, the coasts and islands of 
Scotland, and made inyself acquainted with 
the localities of which I meant to treat. But 
this voyage, which was in every other effect so 
delightful, was in its conclusion saddened by 
one of those strokes of fate which so often 
mingle themselves with our pleasures. The 
accomplished and e.xcellcnt person who had 
recommended to me the subject for IVie Lay of 
the Last Minstrel, and to whom I proposed to 
inscribe what I already susj^ected might be the 
close of my poetical labors, was unexpectedly 
removed from the world, which she seemed 
only to have visited for purposes of kindness 
and benevolence. It is needless to say how 
the author's feelings, or the composition of his 
trifling work, were affected by a circumstance 
which occasioned so manv tears and so muct 



6i6 



NOTES. 



sorrow. True it is, that Tke Lord of the Isles 
was concluded, unwillingly and in haste, under 
the painful feeling of one who has a task which 
must be finished, rather than with the ardor 
of one who endeavors to perform that task 
well. Although the Poem cannot be said to 
have made a favorable impression on the 
public, the sale of fifteen thousand copies en- 
abled the Author to retreat from the field with 
the honors of war. 

" In the mean time, what was necessarily to be 
considered as a failure was much reconciled to 
my feelings by the success attending my attempt 
in another species of composition. Waverley 
had, under strict incognito, taken its flight from 
the press, just before I set out upon the voyage 
already mentioned ; it had now made its way to 
popularity, and the success of that work and the 
volumes which followed was sufiicient to have 
satisfied a greater appetite for applause than I 
have at any time possessed. 

" I may as well add in this place that, being 
much urged by my intimate friend, now unhap- 
pily no more, William Erskine (a Scottish judge, 
by the title of Lord Kinedder), I agreed to write 
the little romantic tale called the Bridal of Trier- 
main ; but it was on the condition that he should 
make no serious effort to disown the composi- 
tion, if report should lay it at his door. As he 
was more than suspected of a taste for poetry, 
and as I took care, in several places, to mix 
something which might resemble (as far as was 
in my power) my friend's feeling and manner, 
the train easily caught, and two large editions 
were sold. A third being called for. Lord 
Kinedder became unwilling to aid any longer 
a deception which was gomg farther than he 
expected or desired, and the real author's name 
was given. Upon another occasion I sent up 
another of these trifles, which, like schoolboys' 
kites, served to show how the wind of popular 
taste was setting. The manner was supposed 
to be that of a rude minstrel or Scald, in oppo- 
sition to the Bridal of Triermaiu, which was 
designed to belong rather to the Italian school. 
This new fugitive piece was called Harold the 
Dauntless ; and I am still astonished at my 
having committed the gross error of selecting 
the very name which Lord Byron had made so 
famous. It encountered rather an odd fate. 
My ingenious friend, Mr. James Hogg, had pub- 
lished, about the same time, a work called the 
Poetic Mirror, containing imitations of the prin- 
cipal living poets. There was in it a very good 
imitation of my own style, which bore such a 
resemblance to Harold the Dauntless that there 
was no discovering the original from the imita- 
tion ; and I believe that many who took the 
trouble of thinking upon the subject were 
rather of opinion that my ingenious friend 
was the true, and not the fictitious, Simon 
Pure. Since this period, which was in the 
year 1817, the Author has not been an intru- 
der on the public by any poetical work of im- 
portance. 

'• Wbbotsford, yi/;-//, 1830." 



CANTO FIRST. 

1. Thy nigged halls, Artornish ! rung. The 
ruins of the castle of Artornish are situated 
upon a promontory on the Morven, or mainland 
side of the Sound of Mull, a name given to the 
deep arm of the sea which divides that island 
from the continent. The situation is wild and 
romantic in the highest degree, having on the 
one hand a high and precipitous chain of rocks 
overhanging the sea, and on the other the nar- 
row entrance to the beautiful salt-water lake, 
called Loch Alline, which is in many places 
finely fringed with copsewood. The ruins of 
Artornish are not now very considerable, and 
consist chiefly of the remains of an old keep, or 
tower, with fragments of outward defences. But 
in former days it was a place of great con- 
sequence, being one of the principal strongholds 
which the Lords of the Isles, during the period 
of their stormy independence^ possessed upon 
the mainland of Argyleshire. 

2. Rude Heiskar's seal through stirges dark, 
etc. The seal displays a taste for music, which 
could scarcely be expected from his habits and 
local predilections. They will long follow a 
boat in which any musical instrument is played, 
and even a tune simply whistled has attractions 
for them. The Dean of the Isles says of Heiskar, 
a small uninhabited rock, about twelve (Scottish) 
miles from the isle of Uist, that an infinite 
slaughter of seals takes place there. 

7. O'er looked, dark JMull ! thy mighty Sotoui. 
The Sound of Mull, which divides that island 
from the continent of Scotland, is one of the 
most striking scenes which the Hebrides afford 
to the traveller. Sailing from Oban to Aros, or 
Tobermory, through a narrow channel, vet deep 
enough to bear vessels of the largest burden, 
he has on his left the bold and mountainous 
shores of Mull ; on the right those of that dis- 
trict of Argyleshire called Morven, or Morvern, 
successively indented by deep salt-water lochs, 
running up many miles inland. To the south- 
eastward arise a prodigious range of mountains, 
among which Cruachan-Ben is pre-eminent. 
And to the northeast is the no less huge and 
picturesque range of the Ardnamurchan hills. 
Many ruinous castles, situated generally upon 
cliffs overhanging the ocean, add interest to the 
scene. 

8. Mingarry sternly placed, etc. The castle 
of Mingarry is situated on the sea-coast of the 
district of Ardnamurchan. The ruins, which 
are tolerably entire, are surrounded by a very 
high wall, forming a kind of polygon, for the 
purpose of adapting itself to the projecting 
angles of a precipice overhanging the sea, on 
which the castle stands. It was anciently the 
residence of the Mac-Ians, a clan of Mac- 
Donalds, descended from Ian, or John, a grand- 
son of Angus Og, Lord of the Isles. 

8. The heir of mi<rhty Soinerled. Somerled 
was thane of Argyle and Lord of the Isles, 
about the middle of the twelfth century. He 
seems to have exercised his authority in both 
capacities, independent of the crown of Scot- 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



617 



land, against which he often stood in hostility. 
He made various incursions upon the western 
lowlands during the reign of Malcolm IV., and 
seems to have made peace with him upon the 
terms of an independent prince, about the year 
1 157. In 1 164 he resumed the war against 
Malcolm, and invaded Scotland with a large 
but probably a tumultuary army, collected in 
the isles, in the mainland of Argyleshire, and in 
the neighboring provinces of Ireland. He was 
defeated and slain in an engagement with a 
very inferior force, near Renfrew. 

8. Lord of the Isles. The representative of 
this independent principality — for such it seems 
to have been, though acknowledging occasion- 
ally the pre-eminence of the Scottish crown — 
was, at the period of the poem, Angus, called 
Angus Og ; but the name has been, euphonies 
gratia, exchanged for that of Ronald, which fre- 
quently occurs in the genealog}'. Angus was a 
protector of Robert Bruce, whom he received 
in his castle of Dunnaverty, during the time of 
his greatest distress. 

II. The House of Lorn. The House of Lorn 
was, like the Lord of the Isles, descended from 
a son of Somerled, slain at Renfrew, in 1164. 
This son obtained the succession of his main- 
land territories, comprehending the greater part 
of the three districts of Lorn, in Argyleshire, 
and of course might rather be considered as 
petty princes than feudal barons. They as- 
sumed the patronymic appellation of Mac- 
Dougal, by which they are distinguished in the 
history of the middle ages. 

21. The mimic fires of ocean gloiv, etc. The 
phenomenon called by sailors Sea-fire is one of 
the most beautiful and interesting which is wit- 
nessed in the Hebrides. At times the ocean 
appears entirely illuminated around the vessel, 
and a long train of lambent coruscations are 
perpetually bursting upon the sides of the ves- 
sel, or pursuing her wake through the darkness. 

24. The dark fortress. The fortress of a Heb- 
ridean chief was almost always on the sea-shore, 
for the facility of communication which the 
ocean afforded. Nothing can be more wild 
than the situations which they chose, and the 
devices by which the architects endeavored to 
defend them. Narrow stairs and arched vaults 
were the usual mode of access ; and the draw- 
bridge appears at Dunstaffnage, and elsewhere, 
to have fallen from the gate of the building to 
the top of such a staircase ; so that any one 
advancing with hostile purpose, found himself 
in a state of exposed and precarious elevation, 
with a gulf between him and the object of his 
attack. 



CANTO SECOND. 

3. That kee)i knight, De Argentine. SirEgidius, 
or Giles de Argentine, was one of the most 
accomplished knights of the period. He had 
served in the wars of Henry of Luxemburg with 
such high reputation that he was, in popular 
estimation, the third worthy of the age. Those 



to whom fame assigned precedence over him 
were, Henry of Luxemburg himself, and Robert 
Bruce. Argentine had warred in Palestine, 
encountered thrice with the Saracens, and had 
slain two antagonists in each engagement: an 
easy matter, he said, for one Christian knight 
to slay two Pagan dogs. His death corresponded 
with his high character. With Aymer de 
Valence, Earl of Pembroke, he was appointed to 
attend immediately upon the person of Edward 
II. at Bannockburn. When the day was utterly 
lost they forced the king from the field. De 
Argentine saw the king safe from immediate 
danger, and then took his leave of him; " God 
be with you, sir," he said, " it is not my wont 
to fly." So saying, he turned his horse, cried 
his war-cry, plunged into the midst of the com- 
batants, and was slain. 

4. " Fill fne the mighty ctip ! " he said, etc. A 
Hebridean drinking-cup, of the most ancient 
and curious workmanship, has been long pre- 
served in the castle of Dunvegan, in Skye, the 
romantic seat of Mac-Leod of Mac-Leod, the 
chief of that ancient and powerful clan. This 
very curious piece of antiquity is nine inches 
and three quarters in inside depth, and ten and 
a half in height on the outside, the extreme 
measure over the lips being four inches and 
a half. The cup is made of wood (oak to all 
appearance), but most curiously wrought and 
embossed with silver work, which projects from 
the vessel. The workmanship of the silver is 
extremely elegant, and appears to have been 
highly gilded. The ledge, brim, and legs of 
the cup are of silver. 

9. With Ca7-rick's outlaived Chief It must be 
remembered by all who have read the Scottish 
history, that after he had slai5ji Comyn at Dum- 
fries, and asserted his right to the Scottish 
crown, Robert Bruce was reduced to the great- 
est extremity by the English and their adherents. 
He was crowned at Scone by the general con- 
sent of the Scottish barons, but his authority 
endured but a short time. According to the 
phrase said to have been used by his wife, he 
was for that year " a summer king, but not a 
winter one." 

II. The Brooch of Lorn. Robert Bruce, 
after his defeat at Methven, being hard pressed 
by the English, endeavored, with the dispirited 
remnant of his followers, to escape from 
Breadalbane and the mountains of Perthshire 
into the Argyleshire Highlands. But he was 
encountered and repulsed, after a very severe 
engagement, by the Lord of Lorn. Bruce's 
personal strength and courage were never dis- 
played to greater advantage than in this con- 
flict. There is a tradition in the family of the 
Mac-Dougals of Lorn, that their chieftain en- 
gaged in personal battle with Bruce himself, 
while the latter was employed in protecting the 
retreat of his men ; that Mac-Dougal was 
struck down by the king, whose strength of 
body was equal to his vigor of mind, and 
would have been slain on the spot, had not 
two of Lorn's vassals, a father and son, whom 
tradition terms Mac-Keoch, resetted him, by 



6i8 



NOTES. 



seizing tiie mantle of the monarch, and dragging 
him from above his adversary. Bruce rid him- 
self of these foes by two blows of his redoubted 
battle-axe, but was so closely pressed by the 
other followers of Lorn, that he was forced to 
abandon the mantle, and brooch which fastened 
it, clasped in the dying grasp of the Mac- 
Keochs. A studded brooch, said to have been 
that which King Robert lost upon this occa- 
sion, was long preserved in the family of Mac- 
Dougal, and was lost in a fire which consumed 
their ten orary residence. 

13. Vain -was then the Douglas brand, etc. 
The gallant Sir James, called the Good Lord 
Douglas, the most faithful and valiant of Bruce's 
adherents, was wounded at the battle of Dairy. 
Sir Nigel, or Neil Campbell, was also in that 
unfortunate skirmish. He married Marjorie, 
sister to Robert Bruce, and was among his most 
faithful followers. 

13. Vain Kir kpatricFs bloody dirk, &tz. The 
proximate cause of Bruce's asserting his right . 
to the crown of Scotland was the death of 
John, called the Red Comyn. (See canto i. st. 
27.) The causes of this act of violence, equally 
extraordinary from the high rank both of the 
perpetrator and sufferer, and from the place 
where the slaughter was committed, are vari- 
ously related by the Scottish and English his- 
torians, and cannot now be ascertained. The 
fact that theymet at the high altar of the Minor- 
ites, or Greyfriar's Church in Dumfries, that 
their difference broke out into high and insult- 
ing language, and that Bruce drew his dagger 
and stabbed Comyn, is certain. Rushing to 
the door of tlie church, Bruce met two power- 
ful barons, Kirkpatrick of Closeburn, and James 
de Lindsay, who eagerly asked him what tid- 
ings ? " Bad tidings," answered Bruce ; " I 
doubt I have slain Comyn." — " Doubtest 
thou?" said Kirkpatrick; "I make sicker" 
(/. e. sure). With these words, he and Lindsay 
rushed into the church, and despatched the 
wounded Comyn. The Kirkpatricks of Close- 
burn assumed, in memory of this deed, a hand 
holding a dagger, with the memorable words, 
" I make sicker." 

13. Barcndown fled fast away, etc. These 
knights are enumerated by Barbour among the 
small number of Bruce's adherents, who re- 
mained in arms with him after the battle of 
Methven. 

25. Was't not enough to Ronald's bower, etc. 
It was anciently customary in the Highlands to 
bring the bride to the house of the husband. 
Nay, in some cases the complaisance was 
stretched so far that she remained there upon 
trial for a twelvemonth ; and the bridegroom, 
even after this period, retained an option of 
refusing to fulfil his engagement. 

26. Since matchless Wallace, etc. There is 
something singularly doubtful about the mode 
in which Wallace was taken. That he was 
betrayed to the English is indubitable ; and 
popular fame charges Sir John Menteith with 
the indelible infamy. " Accursed," says Arnold 
Blair, " be the day of nativity of John de Men- 



teith, and may his name be struck out of the 
book of life." But John de Menteith was all 
along a zealous favorer of the English interest, 
and was governor of Dumbarton Castle by com- 
mission from Edward the First ; and therefore, 
as the accurate Lord Hailes has observed, 
could not be the friend and confidant of Wallace, 
as tradition states him to be. The truth seems 
to be that Menteith, thoroughly engaged in the 
English interest, pursued Wallace closely, and 
macle him prisoner through the treachery of an 
attendant, whom Peter Langtoft calls Jack 
Short. 

26. Was not the life of Athole shed, etc. John 
de Strathbogie, Earl of Athole, had attempted 
to escape out of the kingdom, but a storm cast 
him upon the coast, when he was taken, sent 
to London, and executed, with circumstances 
of great barbarity, being first half strangled, 
then let down from the gallows while yet alive, 
barbarously dismembered, and his body burnt. 
It may surprise the reader to learn that this 
was a mitigated punishment; for in respect 
that his mother was a granddaughter of King 
John, by his natural son Richard, he was not 
drawn on a sledge to execution, " that point was 
forgiven," and he made the passage on horse- 
back. Matthew of Westminster tells us that 
King Edward, then extremely ill, received great 
ease from the news that his relative was appre- 
hended. " Quo audito. Rex Anglia:, etsi gravis- 
siino morbo tunc langueret, levins tamen tulit 
dolorem.'" To this singular expression the text 
alludes. 

29. While I the blessed cross advance, etc. 
Bruce uniformly professed, and probably felt, 
compunction for having violated the sanctuary 
of the church by the slaughter of Comyn ; and 
finally, in his last hours, in testimony of his 
faith, penitence, and zeal, he requested James 
Lord Douglas to carry his heart to Jerusalem, 
to be there deposited in the Holy Sepulchre. 

31. £>e B}'uce ! I rose with purpose dread, etc. 
So soon as the notice of Comyn's slaughter 
reached Rome, Bruce and his adherents were 
excommunicated. It was published first by the 
Archbishop of York, and renewed at different 
times, particularly by Lambyrton, Bishop of St. 
Andrews, in 130S ; but it does not appear to 
have answered the purpose which the English 
monarch expected. Indeed, for reasons which 
it may be difficult to trace, the thunders of 
Rome descended upon the Scottish mountains 
with less effect than in more fertile countries. 
Many of the Scottish prelates, Lambyrton the 
primate particularly, declared for Bruce, while 
he was yet under the ban of the church, although 
he afterwards again changed sides. 



CANTO THIRD. 

8. " Alas! dear youth, the unhafpy time," etc. 
I have followed the vulgar and inaccurate tra- 
dition, that Bruce fought against Wallace and 
the array of Scotland, at the fatal battle of Fal- 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



619 



kirk. The story, which seems to have no bet- 
ter authority than that of Blind Harry, bears, 
that having made much slaughter during the 
engagement, he sat down to dine with the con- 
querors without washing the filthy witness from 
his hands. 

12. These are the savage wilds that lie, etc. 
The extraordinary piece of scenery which I 
have here attempted to describe is, I think, 
imparalleled in any part of Scotland, at least in 
any which I have happened to visit. It lies just 
upon the frontier of the Laird of Mac-Leod's 
country, which is thereabouts divided from the 
estate of Mr. Maccalister of Strath-Aird, called 
Strathnardill by the Dean of the Isles. 

19. Men were they all of evil mien, etc. The 
story of Bruce's meeting the banditti is copied, 
with such alterations as the fictitious narrative 
rendered necessary, from a striking incident in 
the monarch's history, told by Barbour. 

28. And mermaid's alabaster grot, &tQ. Imagi- 
nation can hardly conceive anything more beau- 
tiful than the extraordinary grotto discovered 
not many years since upon the estate of Alex- 
ander Mac-Allister, Esq., of Strathaird. It has 
since been much and deservedly celebrated, and 
a full account of its beauties has been published 
by Dr. Mac-Leay of Oban. 



CANTO FOURTH. 

4. Yet to no sense of selfish 7vrongs, etc. The 
generosity which does justice to the character 
of an enemy often marks Bruce's sentiments, 
as recorded by the faithful Barbour. He sel- 
dom mentions a fallen enemy without praising 
such good qualities as he might possess. 

4. Such hate was his on Sohvays strand, etc. 
To establish his dominion in Scotland had 
been a favorite object of Edward's ambition, 
and nothing could exceed the pertinacity with 
which he pursued it, unless his inveterate resent- 
ment against the insurgents, who so frequently 
broke the English yoke when he deemed it most 
firmly riveted. After the battles of Falkirk and 
Methven, and the dreadful examples which he 
had made of Wallace and other champions of 
national independence, he probably concluded 
every chance of insurrection was completely 
annihilated. This was in 1306, when Bruce, 
as we have seen, was utterly expelled from 
Scotland : yet, in the conclusion of the same 
year, Bruce was again in arms and formidable ; 
and in 1307, Edward, though exhausted by a 
long and wasting malady, put himself at the 
head of the army destined to destroy him utterly. 
But even his spirit of vengeance was unable to 
restore his exhausted strength. He reached 
Burgh-upon-Sands, a petty village of Cumber- 
land, on the shores of the Solway Firth, and 
there, 6th July, 1307, expired in sight of the 
detested and devoted country of Scotland. His 
dying injunctions to his son required him to 
continue the Scottish war, and never to recall 
Gaveston. 



8. Canna's tower, that, steep and gray, etc. 
The little island of Canna, or Cannay, adjoins 
to those of Rum and Muick, with which it 
forms one parish. In a pretty bay opening 
towards the east, there is a lofty and slender 
rock detached from the shore. Upon the sum- 
mit are the ruins of a very small tower, scarcely 
accessible by a steep and precipitous path. 
Here, it is said, one of the kings, or Lords of 
the Isles, confined a beautiful lady, of whom he 
was jealous. The ruins are of course 1 unted 
by her restless spirit, and many roman./c stories 
are told by the aged people of the island con- 
cerning her fate in life, and her appearances 
after death. 

9. And Rollings mountains dark have sent, etc. 
Ronin (popularly called Rum) is a very rough 
and mountainous island, adjacent to those of 
Eigg and Cannay. There is almost no arable 
ground upon it. 

9. On Scooreigg next a warning light, etc. 
These, and the following lines of the stanza, 
refer to a cheadful tale of feudal vengeance. 
Scoor-Eigg is a high peak in the centre of the 
small Isle of Eigg, or Egg. The INIac-Donalds 
of the Isle of Egg, a people dependent on Clan- 
Ranald, had done some injury to the Laird of 
Mac-Leod. The tradition of the isle says that 
it was by a personal attack on the chieftain, in 
which his back was broken. But that of the 
other isles bears, more probably, that the injury 
was offered to two or three of the Mac-Leods, 
who, landing upon Eigg, and using some free- 
dom with the young women, were seized by the 
islanders, bound hand and foot, and turned 
adrift in a boat, which the winds and waves 
safely conducted to Skye. To avenge the 
offence given, Mac-Leod sailed with such a body 
of men as rendered resistance hopeless. The 
natives, fearing his vengeance, concealed them- 
selves in this cavern, and, after a strict search, 
the Mac-Leods went on board their galleys, 
after doing what mischief they could, concluding 
the inhabitants had left the isle, and betaken 
themselves to the Long Island, or some of Clan- 
Ranald's other possessions. But next morning 
they espied from the vessels a man upon the 
island, and immediately landing again, they 
traced his retreat by the marks of his footstei^s, 
a light snow being unhappily on the ground. 
Mac-Leod then surrounded the cavern, sum- 
moned the subterranean garrison, and demanded 
that the individuals who had offended him 
should be delivered up to him. This was per- 
emptorily refused. The chieftain then caused 
his people to divert the course of a rill of water, 
which, falling over the entrance of the cave, 
would have prevented his purposed vengeance. 
He then kindled, at the entrance of the cavern, , 
a huge fire, composed of turf and fern, and 
maintained it with unrelenting assiduity, until 
all within were destroyed by suffocation. 

II. Scenes sung by hiin who sings 710 more. 
The ballad, entitled Macphail of Colonsay, and 
the Mermaid of Corrievrekin, was composed 
by John Leyden, from a tradition which he 
found while making a tour through the Hel> 



620 



NOTES. 



rides about iSoi, soon before his fatal departure 
for India, where he died a martyr to his zeal 
for knowledge, in the island of Java, immedi- 
ately after the landing of our forces near Ba- 
tavia, in August, 1811. 

12. Up Tarbafs wesfent lake they bore, etc. 
The peninsula of Caniire is joined to South 
Knapdale by a very narrow isthmus, formed by 
the western and eastern Loch of Tarbat. These 
two salt-water lakes, or bays, encroach so far 
upon the land, and the extremities come so near 
to each other, that there is not above a mile of 
land to divide them. 

13. Ben-Ghoil, ''the Mmmiain of the Wind" 
etc. Loch Ranza is a beautiful bay, on the 
northern extremity of Arran, opening towards 
East Tarbat Loch. Ben-Ghaoil, "the mountain 
of the winds," is generally known by its English, 
and less poetical, name of Goatfield. 

20. His brother blauted, etc. The kind and 
vet fiery character of Edward Bruce is well 
painted by Barbour, in the account of his be- 
havior after the battle of Bannockburn. Sir 
Walter Ross, one of the very few Scottish 
nobles who fell in that battle, was so dearly 
beloved by Edward, that he wished the victory 
had been lost, so Ross had lived. 

27. Thou heardst a wretched female plain, 
etc. This incident, which illustrates so happily 
the chivalrous generosity of Bruce's character, 
is one of the many simple and natural traits 
recorded by Barbour. It occurred during the 
expedition which Bruce made to Ireland, to 
support the pretensions of his brother Edward 
to the throne of that kingdom. Bruce was 
about to retreat, and his host was arrayed for 
moving. 



CANTO FIFTH. 

6. O'er chasms he passed, rvhere fractures unde, 
etc. The interior of the Island of Arran abounds 
with beautiful Highland scenery. The hills, 
being very rocky and precipitous, afford some 
cataracts of great height, though of inconsider- 
able breadth. There is one pass over the river 
Machrai, renowned for the dilemma of a poor 
woman, who, being tempted by the narrowness 
of the ravine to step across, succeeded in mak- 
ing the first movement, but took fright when it 
became necessary to move the other foot, and 
remained in a posture equally ludicrous and 
dangerous, until some chance passenger assisted 
her to extricate herself. It is said she remained 
there some hours. 

6. Where Druids erst heard victims groan, etc. 
The Isle of Arran, like those of Man and Angle- 
sea, abounds with many relics of heathen, and 
probably Druidical, superstition. There are 
high erect columns of unhewn stone, circles of 
rude stones, and cairns, or sepulchral piles, 
within which are usually found urns enclosing 
ashes. 

6. Old Brodiclz's gothic tcnvers 7vere seen, etc. 
Brodick or Brathwick Castle, in the Isle of 
Arran, is an ancient fortress, near an open 



roadstead called Brodick-Bay, and not far dis- 
tant from a tolerable harbor, closed in by the 
Island of Lamlash. This important place had 
been assailed a short time before Bruce's arrival 
in the island. James Lord Douglas, who accom- 
panied Bruce to his retreat in Rachrine, seems, 
in the spring of 1306, to have tired of his abode 
there, and set out accordingly, in the phrase of 
the times, to see what adventure God would 
send him. Sir Robert Boyd accompanied him; 
and his knowledge of the localities of Arran 
appears to have directed his course thither. 
They landed in the island privately, and appear 
to have laid an ambush for Sir John Hastings, 
the English governor of Brodwick, and sur- 
prised a considerable supply of arms and pro- 
visions, and nearly took the castle itself. Indeed, 
that they actually did so, has been generally 
averred by historians, although it does not 
appear from the narrative of Barbour. On the 
contrary, it would seem that they took shelter 
within a fortification of the ancient inhabitants, 
a rampart called Tor an Scliian. When they 
were joined by Bruce, it seems probable that 
they had gained Brodick Castle. 

7. A language muck unmeet he hears. Barbour, 
with great simplicity, gives an anecdote, from 
which it would seem that the vice of profane 
swearing, afterwards too general among the 
Scottish nation, was, at this time, confined to 
military men. As Douglas, after Bruce's return 
to Scotland, was roving about the mountainous 
country of Tweeddale, near the water of Line, 
he chanced to hear some persons in a farm- 
house say " the devil.'''' Concluding, from this 
hardy expression, that the house contained war- 
like guests, he immediately assailed it, and had 
the good fortune to make prisoners Thomas 
Randolph, afterwards the famous Earl of Mur- 
ray, and Alexander Stuart, Lord Bonkle. Both 
were then in the English interest, and had come 
into that country with the purpose of driving 
out Douglas. They afterwards ranked among 
Bruce's most zealous adherents. 

17. iVotu ask you wkence that zvondrous light, 
etc. " The only tradition now remembered of the 
landing of Robert the Bruce in Carrick, relates 
to the fire seen by him from the Isle of Arran. 
It is still generally reported, and religiously 
believed by many, that this fire was really the 
work of supernatural power, unassisted by the 
hand of any mortal being; and it is said that 
for several centuries the flame rose yearly on 
the same hour of the same night of the year on 
which the king first saw it from the turrets of 
Brodick Castle; and some go so far as to say 
that if the exact time were known, it would be 
still seen. That this superstitious notion is very 
ancient, is evident from the place where the fire 
is said to have appeared, being called the Bogles' 
Brae, beyond the remembrance of man. In 
support of this curious belief, it is said that the 
practice of burning heath for the improvement 
of land was then unknown; that a spunkie 
(Jack o'lanthorn) could not have been seen 
across the breadth of the Forth of Clyde, be- 
tween Ayrshire and Arran ; and that the courier 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



621 



of Bruce was his kinsman, and never suspected 
of treachery" {Letter from Mr. Joseph Train, 
of Neivton Stuart) . 

33. The Bruce hath won his father's hall ! 
I have followed the flattering and pleasing tra- 
dition, that the Bruce, after his descent upon 
the coast of Ayrshire, actually gained posses- 
sion of his maternal castle. But the tradition 
is not accurate. The fact is, that he was only 
strong enough to alarm and drive in the out- 
posts of the English garrison, then commanded, 
not by Clifford, as assumed in the text, but by 
Percy. Neither was Clifford slain upon this 
occasion, though he had several skirmishes with 
Bruce. He fell afterwards in the battle of 
Bannockburn. Bruce, after alarming the castle 
of Turnberry, and surprising some part of the 
garrison, who were quartered without the walls 
of the fortress, retreated into the mountainous 
part of Carrick, and there made himself so 
strong that the English were obliged to evacuate 
Turnberry, and at length the castle of Ayr. 

34. " Bring here," he said, " the mazers four ^^ 
etc. These mazers were large drinking-cups, 
or coblets. 



CANTO SIXTH. 

I. When Bruce' s banner had victorious floTved, 
etc. The first important advantage gained by 
Bruce, after landing at Turnberry, was over 
Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, the same 
by whom he had been defeated near Methven. 
They met, as has been said, by appointment, at 
Loudonhill, in the west of Scotland. Pembroke 
sustained a defeat ; and from that time Bruce 
was at the head of a considerable flying army. 
Yet he was subsequently obliged to retreat into 
Aberdeenshire, and was there assailed by 
Comyn, Earl of Buchan, desirous to avenge the 
death of his relative, the Red Comyn, and sup- 
ported by a body of English troops under 
Philip de Moubray. Bruce was ill at the time 
of a scrofulous disorder, but took horse to meet 
his enemies, although obliged to be supported 
on either side. He was victorious, and it is 
said that the agitation of his spirits restored his 
health. 

I. When English blood oft deluged Douglas- 
dale. The "good Lord James of Douglas," 
during these commotions, often took from the 
English his own castle of Douglas; but being 
unable to garrison it, contented himself with 
destroying the fortifications and retiring into 
the mountains. As a reward to his patriotism, 
it is said to have been prophesied that how 
often soever Douglas Castle should be de- 
stroyed, it should always again arise more 
magnificent from its ruins. Upon one of these 
occasions he used fearful cruelty, causing all 
the store of provisions, which the English had 
laid up in his castle, to be heaped together, 
bursting the wine and beer casks among the 
wheat and flour, slaughtering the cattle upon 
the same spot, and upon the top of the whole 
cutting the throats of the English prisoners. 



This pleasantry of the " good Lord James " is 
commemorated under the name of the Douglas's 
Larder. 

I. And fiery Ediuard routed stout Saint John. 
" John de Saint John, with 1 5,000 horsemen, had 
advanced to oppose the inroad of the Scots. 
By a forced march he endeavored to surprise 
them ; but intelligence of his motions was time- 
ously received. The courage of Edward Bruce, 
approaching to temerity, frequently enabled 
him to achieve what men of more judicious 
valor would never have attempted. He or- 
dered the infantry, and the meaner sort of his 
army, to entrench themselves in strong narrow 
ground. He himself, with fifty horsemen well 
harnessed, issued forth under cover of a thick 
mist, surprised the English on their march, 
attacked and dispersed them " {Dalrymple's 
Annals of Scotland). 

I. When Randolph's 7oar-cry swelled the south- 
ern gale. Thomas Randolph, Bruce's sister's 
son, a renowned Scottish chief, was in the 
early part of his life not more remarkable for 
consistency than Bruce himself. He espoused 
his uncle's party when Bruce first assumed the 
crown, and was made prisoner at the fatal battle 
of Methven, in which his relative's hopes ap- 
peared to be ruined. Randolph accordingly 
not only submitted to the English, but took an 
active part against Bruce ; appeared in arms 
against him ; and in the skirmish where he was 
so closely pursued by the bloodhound it is said 
his nephew took his standard with his own hand. 
But Randolph was afterwards made prisoner 
by Douglas in Tweeddale, and brought before 
King Robert. Some harsh language was ex- 
changed between the uncle and nephew, and 
the latter was committed for a time to close 
custody. Afterwards, however, they were recon- 
ciled, and Randolph was created Earl of Moray 
about 131 2. After this period he eminently 
distinguished himself, first by the surprise of 
Edinburgh Castle, and afterwards by many 
similar enterprises, conducted with equal cour- 
age and ability. 

4. Stirling's towers, etc. When a long train 
of success, actively improved by Robert Bruce, 
had made him master of almost all Scotland, 
Stirling Castle continued to hold out. The care 
of the blockade was committed by the king to 
his brother Edward, who concluded a treaty 
with Sir Philip Mowbray, the governor, that he 
should surrender the fortress, if it were not 
succored by the King of England before Saint 
John the Baptist's day. The consequence was, 
of course, that each kingdom mustered its 
strength for the tf.xpected battle : and as the 
space agreed upon reached from Lent to Mid- 
summer, full time was allowed for that pur- 
pose. 

4. And Cambria, but of late subdued, etc. 
Edward the First, with the usual policy of a 
conqueror, employed the Welsh, whom he had 
subdued, to assist him in his Scottish wars, for 
which their habits, as mountaineers, ])articularly 
fitted them. But this ]5olicy was not without 
its risks. Previous to the battle of Falkirk, the 



622 



NOTES. 



Welsh quarrelled with the English men-at-arms, 
and after bloodshed on both parts, separated 
themselves from his army, and the feud between 
them, at so dangerous and critical a juncture, 
was reconciled with difficulty. Edward II. fol- 
lowed his father's example in this particular, 
and with no better success. They could not be 
brought to exert themselves in the cause of their 
conquerors. But they had an indifferent re- 
ward for their forbearance. Without arms, and 
clad only in scanty dresses of linen cloth, they 
appeared naked in the eyes even of the Scottish 
peasantry; and after the rout of Bannockburn 
were massacred by them in great numbers, as 
they retired in confusion towards their own 
country. 

4. And Connoght poured from ivaste atid wood, 
etc. There is in the Fccdera an invitation to 
Eth O'Connor, chief of the Irish of Connaught, 
setting forth that the king was about to move 
against his Scottish rebels, and therefore re- 
questing the attendance of all the force he 
could muster, either commanded by himself in 
person, or by some nobleman of his race. These 
auxiliaries were to be commanded by Richard 
de Burgh, Earl of Ulster. 

13. The Mo)tarch rode along the van. The 
English vanguard, commanded by the Earls of 
Gloucester and Hereford, came in sight of the 
Scottish army upon the evening of the 23d of 
June. Bruce was then riding upon a little 
palfrey, in front of his foremost line, putting 
his host in order. It was then that the personal 
encounter took place betwixt him and Sir 
Henry de Bohun, a gallant English knight, the 
issue of which had a great effect upon the spirits 
of both armies. The Scottish leaders remon- 
strated with the king upon his temerity. He 
only answered, " I have broken my good battle- 
axe." The English vanguard retreated after 
witnessing this single combat. Probably their 
generals did not think it advisable to hazard 
an attack while its unfavorable issue remained 
upon their minds. 

20. Pipe-clang and buglc-sonnd were tossed. 
There is an old tradition, that the well-known 
Scottish tune of " Hey, tutti taitti," was Bruce's 
march at the battle of Bannockburn. The late 
Mr. Ritson, no granter of propositions, doubts 
whether the Scots had any martial music, quotes 
Froissart's account of each soldier in the host 
bearing a little horn, on which, at the onset, 
they would make such a horrible noise, as if all 
the devils of hell had been among them. He 
observes that these horns are the only music 
mentioned by Barbour, and concludes that it 
must remain a moot point whether Bruce's 
army were cheered by the sound even of a soli- 
tary bagpipe. 

21. See where yon barefoot Abbot stands, etc. 
" Maurice, Abbot of Inchaffray, placing himself 
on an eminence, celebrated mass in sight of the 
Scottish army. He then passed along the front 
bare-footed, and bearing a crucifix in his hands, 
and exhorting the Scots, in few and forcible 
words, to combat for their rights and their 
liberty. The Scots kneeled down. ' ""hey 



yield,' cried Edward; ' see, they implore mercy.' 
— ' They do.' answered Ingelram de Umfraville, 
' but not ours. On that field they will be vic- 
torious, or die'" {Annals of Scotland, \o\. ii. 

P- 47)- 

22. Forth, Marshal, 071 the peasant foe ! The 
English archers commenced the attack with 
their usual bravery and dexterity. But against 
a force, whose importance he had learned "by 
fatal experience, Bruce was provided. A small 
but select body of cavalry were detached from 
the right, under command of Sir Robert Keith. 
They rounded, as I conceive, the marsh called 
Milntown bog, and, keeping the firm ground, 
charged the left flank and rear of the English 
archers. As the bowmen had no spears nor 
long weapons fit to defend themselves against 
horse, they were instantly thrown into dis- 
order, and spread through the whole English 
army a confusion from which they never fairly 
recovered. 

24. Twelve Scottish lives his baldric bore ! 
Roger Ascham quotes a similar Scottish prov- 
erb, " whereby they give the whole praise of 
shooting honestly to Englishmen, saying thus, 
' that every English archer beareth under his 
girdle twenty-four Scottes.' Indeed, Toxophilus 
says before, and truly of the Scottish nation, 
' The Scottes surely be good men of warre in 
theyre owne feates as can be ; but as for shoot- 
inge, they can neither use it to any profite, nor 
yet challenge it for any praise.' " 

24. DoiLDi ! doiun ! in headlong overthro^u, etc. 
It is generally alleged by historians, that the 
English men-at-arms fell into the hidden snare 
which Bruce had prepared for them. Barbour 
does not mention the circumstance. According 
to his account, Randolph, seeing the slaughter 
made by the cavalry on the right wing among 
the archers, advanced courageously against the 
main body of the English, and entered into 
close combat 'with them. Douglas and Stuart, 
who commanded the Scottish centre, led their di- 
vision also to the charge, and the battle becom- 
ing general along the whole line, was obstinately 
maintained on both sides for a long space of 
time; the Scottish archers doing great execu- 
tion among the English men-at-arms, after the 
bowmen of England were dispersed. 

24. And steeds that shriek in agony. I have 
been told that this line requires an explanatory 
note ; and, indeed, those who witness the silent 
patience with which horses submit to the most 
cruel usage, may be permitted to doubt that 
in moments of sudden and intolerable anguish, 
they utter a most melancholy cry. Lord Ers- 
kine, in a speech made in the House of Lords, 
upon a bill for enforcing humanity towards ani- 
mals, noticed this remarkable fact, in language 
which I will not mutilate by attempting to re- 
peat it. It was my fortune, upon one occasion, 
to hear a horse, in a moment of agony, utter a 
thrilling scream, which I still consider the most 
melancholy sound I ever heard. 

28. Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee, etc. 
When the engagement between the main bodies 
had lasted some time, Bruce made a decisive 



THE FIE^D OF WATERLOO. 



623 



movement by bringing up the Scottish reserve. 
It is traditionally said that at this crisis he ad- 
dressed the Lord of tlie Isles in a phrase used 
as a motto by some of his descendants, " My 
trust is constant in thee." 

30. To an?is they fleiu, — axe, club, or spear, 
etc. The followers of the Scottish camp ob- 
served, from the Gillies' Hill in the rear, the 
impression produced upon the English army by 
the bringing up of the Scottish reserve, ancl, 
prompted by the enthusiasm of the moment, or 
the desire of plunder, assumed, in a tumultuary 
manner, such arms as they found nearest, fast- 
ened sheets to tent-poles and lances, and showed 
themselves like a new army advancing to battle. 



The unexpected apparition of what seemed a 
new army completed the confusion which al 
ready prevailed among the English, who fled in 
every direction, and were pursued with immense 
slaughter. The brook of Bannock, according 
to Barbour, was so choked with the bodies of 
men and horses that it might have been passed 
dry-shod. 

31. O, give their hapless prince his due ! Ed- 
ward II., according to the best authorities, 
showed, in the fatal field of Bannockburn, per- 
sonal gallantry not unworthy of his great sire 
and greater son. He remained on the field till 
forced away by the Earl of Pembroke, when all 
was lost. 



(ZTIje JrielD of mmxXm. 



2. Plies the hooked staff and shortened scythe. 
The reaper in Flanders carries in his left hand 
a stick with an iron hook, with which he col- 
lects as much grain as he can cut at one sweep 
with a short scythe, which he holds in his right 
hand. They carry on this double process with 
great spirit and dexterity. 

9. Pale Brussels ! then tvhat thoughts were 
thine. It was affirmed by the prisoners of war 
that Bonaparte had promised his army, in case 
of victory, twenty-four hours' plunder of the 
city of Brussels. 

io. '^ On ! On ! '^ was still his stern exclaim. 
The characteristic obstinacy of Napoleon was 
never more fully displayed than in what we may 
be permitted to hope will prove the last of his 
fields. He wouM listen to no advice and allow 
of no obstacles. An eyewitness has given the 
following account of his demeanor towards 
the end of the action : — 

" It was near seven o'clock ; Bonaparte, who 
till then had remained upon the ridge of the 
hill whence he could best behold what passed, 
contemplated with a stern countenance the 
scene of this horrible slaughter. The more 
that obstacles seemed to multiply, the more his 
obstinacy seemed to increase. He became in- 
dignant at these unforeseen difficulties ; and, 
far from fearing to push to extremities an army 
whose confidence in him was boundless, he 
ceased not to pour down fresh troops, and to 
give orders to march forward — to charge with 
the bayonet — to carry by storm. He was re- 
peatedly informed, from difTerent points, that 
the day went against him, and that the troops 
seemed to be disordered ; to which he only 
replied, ^ En-avant I En-a7Jant!^" 

10. The fate their leader shnnned to share. It 
has been reported that Bonaparte charged at 
the head of his guards, at the last period of this 
dreadful conflict This, however, is not accu- 
rate. He came down, indeed, to a hollow part 
of the high-road leading to Charleroi, within 



less than a quarter of a mile of the farm of La 
Haye Sainte, one of the points most fiercely 
disputed. Here he harangued the guards, and 
informed them that his preceding operations 
had destroyed the British infantry and cav- 
alry, and that they had only to support the fire 
of the artillery, which they were to attack with 
the bayonet. This exhortation was received 
with shouts of I'iz'e V Empereur, which were 
heard over all our line, and led to an idea that 
Napoleon was charging in person. But the 
guards were led on by Ney ; nor did Bonaparte 
approach nearer the scene of action than the 
spot already mentioned, which the rising banks 
on each side rendered secure from all such balls 
as did not come in a straight line. 

10. England shall tell the fight! In riding 
up to a regiment which was hard pressed, the 
duke called to the men, " Soldiers, we must 
never be beat, — what will they say in Eng- 
land ? " It is needless to say how this appeal 
was answered. 

12. As plies the smith his clanging trade. A 
private soldier of the 95th regiment compared 
the sound which took place immediately upon 
the British cavalry mingling with those of the 
enemy, to " a thousand tinkers at work mending 
pots and kettles.'" 

21. Period of ho7ior, etc. Sir Thomas Pictou, 
Sir William Ponsonby, and Sir William de 
Lancey were among the lost. The last-named 
was married in the preceding April. Colonel 
Miller, when mortally wounded, desired to see 
the colors of the regiment once more ere he 
died. They were waved over his head, and 
the expiring officer declared himself satisfied. 
Colonel Cameron, of Fassiefern, so often dis- 
tinguished in Lord Wellington's despatches 
from Spain, fell in the action at Quatre Bras 
(i6th June, 18 15), while leading the 93d or Gor- 
don Highlanders, to charge a body of cavalry 
supported by infantry. Colonel Alexander 
Gordon fell by the side of his chief. 



624 



NOTES. 



i^arolti tlje 2:)auntleg£;, 



This poem was published in January, 1817. 
See Scott's reference to it in the 1830 Introduc- 
tion to The Lord of the Isles. Unlike the other 
long poems, it has almost no notes. 



CANTO THIRD. 

I. Aly Siirtees' happier lot. Robert Surtees 
of Mahisforth, Esq., F.S.A., author of The 



History and Antiquities of the County Palatine 
of Durham. 3 vols, folio, 1816-20-23. 



CANTO FOURTH. 

I . BeVs false priest. See, in the Apocryphal 
Books, The History of Bel ajid the Dragon. 

I. Matthew and Morion, &tc. Bishops of Dur- 
ham, as Barringtoti also was. 



iSallaDs from tlje <Sennan, €tc. 



aSHilliatn anU i?elcn. 

OFthis translation, vvrittenin 1795, '^'^'^ printed 
in 1 796, Scott says : — 

" The following Translation was written long 
before the Author saw any other, and origi- 
nated in the following circumstances : A lady 
of high rank in the literary world read this ro- 
mantic tale, as translated by Mr. Taylor, in the 
house of the celebrated Professor Dugald Stew- 
art of Edinburgh. The Author was not pres- 
ent, nor indeed in Edinburgh at the time; but 
a gentleman who had the pleasure of hearing 
the ballad, afterwards told him the story, and 
repeated the remarkable chorus — 

' Tramp ! tramp ! across the land they speede, 
Splash ! splash ! across the sea ; 
Hurrah! The dead can ride apace ! 
Dost fear to ride with me ?' 

" In attempting a translation, then intended 
only to circulate among friends, the present 
Author did not hesitate to make use of this 
impressive stanza ; for which freedom he has 
since obtained the forgiveness of the ingenious 
gentleman to whom it properly belongs." 



West amilU li^untstnan. 

This was published with William and Helen 
in 1796, being then entitled The Chace. Scott 
says of it : — 

" This is a translation, or rather an imitation, 
of the Wilde Jiiger of the German poet Biirger. 
The tradition upon which it is founded bears, 
that formerly a Wildgrave, or keeper of a royal 
forest, named Faulkenburg, was so much ad- 
dicted to the pleasures of the chase, and other- 
wise so extremely profligate and cruel, that he 
not only followed this unhallowed amusement 
on the .Sabbath, and other days consecrated to 
religious duty, but accompanied it with the 
most unheard-of oppression upon the poor 
peasants, who were under his vassalage. When 
this second Nimrod died, the people adopted 



a superstition, founded probably on the many 
various uncouth sounds heard in the depth of a 
German forest, during the silence of the night. 
They conceived they still heard the cry of the 
Wildgrave's hounds ; and the well-known cheer 
of the deceased hunter, the sounds of his horses' 
feet, and the rustling of the branches before 
the game, the pack, and the sportsmen, are also 
distinctly discriminated: but the phantoms are 
rarely, if ever, visible. Once, as a benighted 
Chasseur heard this infernal chase pass by him, 
at the sound of the halloo, with which the 
Spectre Huntsman cheered his hounds, he 
could not refrain from crying, ' Cluck zu Fal- 
kenburgh P (Good sport to ye, Falkenburgh !) 
' Dost thou wish me good sport ? ' answered a 
hoarse voice ; ' thou shalt share the game ; ' 
and there was thrown at him what seemed to 
be a huge piece of foul carrion. The daring 
Chasseur lost two of his best horses soon after, 
and never perfectly recovered the personal ef- 
fects of this ghostly greeting. This tale, though 
told with some variations, is universally believed 
all over Germany. 

"The French had a similar tradition con- 
cerning an aerial hunter who infested the for- 
est of Fontainebleau. He was sometimes 
visible ; when he appeared as a huntsman, 
surrounded with dogs, a tall grisly figure. 
Some account of him may be found in Sully's 
Memoirs, who says he was called Le Grand 
I'eneur. At one time he chose to hunt so near 
the palace, that the attendants, and, if I mistake 
not. Sully himself, came out into the court, sup- 
posing it was the sound of the king returning 
from "the chase. This phantom is elsewhere 
called Saint Hubert. 

" The superstition seems to have been very 
general, as appears from the following fine 
poetical description of this phantom chase, as 
it was heard in the wilds of Ross-shire : — 

' Ere since of old, the haughty thanes of Ross — 
So to the simple swain tradition tells — 
Were wont with clans, and ready vassals thronged, 
To wake the bounding stag, or guilty wolf, 
Tliere oft is heard, at midnight, or at noon. 
Beginning faint, but rising .still more loud, 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN, ETC. 



625 



And nearer, voice of hunters, and of hounds, 

And horns, hoarse winded, blowing far and keen : — 

Forthwith the hubbub multiplies ; the gale 

Labors with wilder shrieks, and rifer din 

Of hot pursuit ; the broken cry of deer 

Mangled by throttling dogs; the shouts of men, 

And hoofs, thick beating on the hollow hill. 

Sudden the grazing heifer in the vale 

Starts at the noise, and both the herdsman's ears 

Tingle with inward dread. Aghast, he eyes 

The mountain's height, and all the ridges round. 

Yet not one trace of living wight discerns, 

Nor knows, o'erawed, and trembling as he stands, 

To what, or whom, he owes his idle fear. 

To ghost, to witch, to fairy, or to fiend ; 

But wonders, and no end of wondering finds.' 

Albania — reprinted in Scottish Descri/itive Poems 
pp. 167, 168. 

" A posthumous miracle of Father Lesley, a 
Scottish capuchin, related to his being buried 
on a hill haunted by these unearthly cries of 
hounds and huntsmen. After his sainted relics 
had been deposited there, the noise was never 
heard more. The reader will find this, and 
other miracles, recorded in the life of Father 
Bonaventura, which is written in the choicest 
Italian." 



■ Wit JFtre=lting. 

This ballad was written at the request of 
Mr. Lewis, to be inserted in his Tales of Won- 
der (published in iSoi). It is the third in a 
series of four ballads on the subject of Ele- 
mentary Spirits. The story is, however, partly 
historical ; for it is recorded that during the 
struggles of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, 
a Knight-Templar, called Saint Alban, deserted 
to the Saracens, and defeated the Christians in 
many combats, till he was finally routed and 
slain, in a conflict with King Baldwin, under 
the walls of Jerusalem. 



JFreUertrft antr %\m. 

This tale is imitated, rather than translated, 
from a fragment introduced in Goethe's Claii- 
dbia von Villa Bella, where it is sung by a mem- 
ber of a gang of banditti, to engage the attention 
of the family, while his companions break into 
the castle. It owes any little merit it may pos- 
sess to my friend Mr. Lewis, to whom it was 
sent in an extremely rude state ; and who, after 
some material improvements, published it in 
his Tales of Wonder. 



Wcfl. 33attlr of ;5cmpad}. 

Of this poem, written in 1818, Scott says : — 
" These verses are a literal translation of an 
ancient Swiss ballad upon the battle of Sem- 
pach, fought 9th July, 13S6, being the victory 
by which the Swiss cantons established their 
independence ; the author, Albert Tchudi, de- 
nominated the Souter, from his profession of a 
shoemaker. He was a citizen of Lucerne, es- 



teemed highly among his countrymen, both for 
his powers as a Meistersitiger, or minstrel, and 
his courage as a soldier ; so that he might share 
the praise conferred by Collins on ylischylus, 
that — 

' Not alone he nursed the poet's flame, 
But reached from Virtue's hand the patriot steel.' 

" The circumstance of their being written by a 
poet returning from the well-fought field he de- 
scribes, and in which his country's fortune was 
secured, may confer on Tchudi's verses an in- 
terest which they are not entitled to claim from 
their poetical merit. But ballad poetry, the 
more literally it is translated, the more it loses 
its simplicity, without acquiring either grace or 
strength ; and, therefore, some of the faults of 
the verses must be imputed to the translator's 
feeliiig it a duty to keep as closely as possible 
to his original. The various puns, rude at- 
tempts at pleasantry, and disproportioned epi- 
sodes, must be set down to Tchudi's account, 
or to the taste of his age. 

" The military antiquary will derive some 
amusement from the minute particulars which 
the martial poet has recorded. The mode in 
which the Austrian men-at-arms received the 
charge of the Swiss was by forming a phalanx, 
which they defended with their long lances. 
The gallant Winkelreid, who sacrificed his own 
life by rushing among the spears, clasping in 
his arms as many as he could grasp, and thus 
opening a gap in those iron battalions, is cele- 
brated in Swiss history. When fairly mingled 
together, the unwieldy length of their weapons, 
and cumbrous weight of their defensive armor, 
rendered the Austrian men-at-arms a very un- 
equal match for the light-armed mountaineers. 
The victories obtained by the Swiss over the 
German chivalry, hitherto deemed as formi- 
dable on foot as on horseback, led to important 
changes in the art of war. The poet describes 
the Austrian knights and squires as cutting the 
peaks from their boots ere they could act upon 
foot, in allusion to an inconvenient piece of 
foppery, often mentioned in the Middle Ages. 
Leopold III., Archduke of Austria, called '"the 
handsome man-at-arms,' was slain in the battle 
of Sempach, with the flower of his chivalry." 



W&t Noble ilHoringcr. 

The translation of The Nohle Morim^er ap- 
peared originally in the Edinbiin^h Annual 
Register for 1816 (published in 1819). It was 
composed during Sir Walter Scott's severe and 
alarming illness of April, 1819. He says of it :— 

" The original of these verses occurs in a 
collection of Gennan popular songs, entitled 
Sammhing Deutschen J'ol/csliedcr, Berlin, 1807, 
published by Messrs. Busching and Von der 
Hagen, both, and more especially the last, 
distinguished for their acquaintance with the 
ancient popular poetry and legendary history 
of Germany. 



40 



626 



NOTES. 



" In the German Editor's notice of the ballad, 
it is stated to have been extracted from a manu- 
script Chronicle of Nicolaus Thomann, chaplain 
to Saint Leonard in Weisenhorn, which bears 
the date 1533; and the song is stated by the 
author to have been generally sung in the 
neighborhood at that early period. Thomann, 
as quoted bv the German Editor, seems faith- 
fully to have believed the event he narrates. 
He quotes tombstones and obituaries to prove 
the existence of the personages of the ballad, 
and discovers that there actually died, on the 
nth May, 1349, a Lady Von Neuffen, Countess 
of Marst'etten, who was, by birth, of the house 
of Moringer. This lady he supposes to have 
been Moringer's daughter, mentioned in the 
ballad. He quotes the same authority for the 



death of Berckhold Von IVeuffen, in the same 
year. The editors, on the whole, seem to em- 
brace the opinion of Professor Smith of Ulm, 
who, from the language of the ballad, ascribes 
its date to the fifteenth century. 

" The legend itself turns on an incident not pe- 
culiar to Germany, and which, perhaps, was not 
unlikely to happen in more instances than one, 
when crusaders abode long in the Holy Land, 
and their disconsolate dames received no tidings 
of their fate. A storv, verv similar in circum- 
stances, but without the miraculous machinery of 
Saint Thomas, is told of one of the ancient Lords 
of Haigh-hall in Lancashire, the jiatrimonial 
inheritance of the late Countess of Balcarras; and 
the particulars are represented on stained glass 
upon a window in that ancient manor-house." 



Lallans. 



6lcnfinlas. 

This ballad first appeared in Lewis's Tales of 
Wonder (i^Ol). 

The simple tradition upon which it is founded 
runs thus: While two Highland hunters were 
passing the night in a solitary /v/Z/j' (a hut, built 
for the purpose of hunting), and making merry 
over their venison and whiskey, one of them 
expressed a wish that they had pretty lasses to 
complete their party. The words were scarcely 
uttered, when two beautiful young women, 
habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and 
singing. One of the hunters was seduced by 
the siren who attached herself particularly to 
him, to leave the hut ; the other remained, and, 
suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to 
play upon a trump, or Jew's harp, some strain 
consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length 
came, and the temptress vanished. Searching 
in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortu- 
nate friend, who had been torn to pieces and 
devoured by the fiend into whose toils he had 
fallen. The place was from thence called the 
Glen of the Green Women. 

Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying 
in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from 
Callender "in Menteith. It was formerly a royal 
forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. 
This country, as well as the adjacent district 
of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly 
inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west of 
the Forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and 
its romantic avenue, called the Troshachs. 
Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich are moun- 
tains in the same district, and at no great dis- 
tance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes 
Callender and the castle of Doune, and joins 
the Forth near Stirling. The Pass of Lenny is 
immediately above Callender, and is the prin- 
cipal access to the Highlands, from that town. 
Glenartney is a forest, near Benvoirlich. The 
whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine scenery. 



Hem' blazed Lord Raiiahrs beltane-free. The 
fires lighted by the Highlanders, on the first of 
May, in compliance with a custom derived from 
the Pagan times, are termed The Beltane-tree. 
It is a festival celebrated with various super- 
stitious rites, both in the north of Scotland and 
in Wales. 

The seer^s prophetic spirit found. I can only 
describe the second sight, by adopting Dr. John- 
son's definition, who calls it " an impression, 
either by the mind upon the eye, or by the eye 
upon the mind, by which things distant and 
future are perceived and seen as if they were 
present." To which I would only add, that the 
spectral appearances, thus presented, usually 
presage misfortune ; that the faculty is painful 
to those who suppose they possess it ; and that 
they usually acquire it while themselves under 
the pressure of melancholy. 

Will good Saint Oran's rtile prevail ? Saint 
Oran was a friend and follower of Saint Co- 
lumba, and was buried at Icolmkill. His pre- 
tensions to be a saint were rather dubious. 
According to the legend, he consented to be 
buried alive, in order to propitiate certain 
demons of the soil, who obstructed the at- 
tempts of Columba to build a chapel. Columba 
caused the body of his friend to be dug up, after 
three days had elapsed ; when Oran, to the 
horror and scandal of the assistants, declared 
that there was neither a God, a judgment, nor 
a future state ! He had no time to make 
further discoveries, for Columba caused the 
earth once more to be shovelled over him with 
the utmost despatch. The chapel, however, 
and the cemetery, was called Relig Oztran : 
and, in memory of his rigid celibacy, no female 
was permitted to pay her devotions or be 
buried in that place. This is the rule alluded 
to in the poem. 

And thrice Saint Fillan''s powe7-ful prayer. 
Saint Fillan has given his name to many chap- 
els, holy fountains, etc., in Scotland. He was, 



BALLADS. 



627 



according to Camcrarius, an Abbot of Pitten- 
weem, in Fife ; from which situation he retired, 
and died a hermit in .the wilds of Glenurchy, 
A. D. 649. While engaged in transcribing the 
Scriptures, his left hand was observed to send 
forth such a splendor as to afford light to that 
with which he wrote, — a miracle which saved 
many candles to the convent, as Saint Fillan 
used to spend whole nights in that exercise. 
The 9th of January was dedicated to this saint, 
who gave his name to Kilfillan, in Renfrew, and 
St. Phillans, or Forgend, in Fife. 



Wot (Eije of Saint 3o()n. 

SMAYLHOLMEor Smallholm Tower, the scene 
of the following ballad, is situated on the north- 
ern boundary of Roxburghshire, among a clus- 
ter of wild rocks, called Sandiknow-Crags, the 
property of Hugh Scott, Esq., of Harden. 
The tower is a high square building, sur- 
rounded by an outer wall, now ruinous. The 
circuit of the outer court, being defended on 
three sides, by a precipice and morass, is acces- 
sible only from the west, by a steep and rocky 
path. The apartments, as is usual in a Border 
keep, or fortress, are placed one above another, 
and communicate by a narrow stair; on the 
roof are two bartizans, or platforms, for defence 
or pleasure. The inner door of the tower is 
wood, the outer an iron gate ; the distance be- 
tween them being nine feet, the thickness, 
namely, of the wall. From the elevated situa- 
tion of Smaylholme Tower, it is seen many 
miles in every direction. Among the crags 
by which it is surrounded, one, more eminent, 
is called the Watchfold, and is said to have 
been the station of a beacon, in the times of 
war with England. Without the tower-court 
is a ruined chapel. Brotherstone is a heath, 
in the neighborhood of Smaylholme Tower. 

This ballad was first printed in Mr. Lewis's 
Tales of Womier. The catastrophe of the tale 
is founded upon a well-known Irish tradition. 1 
This ancient fortress and its vicinity formed 
the scene of the Editor's infancy, and seemed 
to claim from him this attempt to celebrate 
them in a Border tale. 

The black rood-stoite. The black rood of Mel- 
rose was a crucifix of black marble, and of 
superior sanctity. 

The Eildon-tree. Eildon is a high hill, ter- 
minating in three conical summits, immediately 
above the town of Melrose, where are the ad- 
mired ruins of a magnificent monastery. Eildon- 

' The following: passage, in Dr. Henry More's Appen- 
dix to tlie Antidote against Atheism, relates to a similar 
phenomenon : " I confess, that the bodies of devils may 
not be only warm, but singeingly hot, as it was in him that 
took one of Melancthon's relations by the hand, and so 
scorched her, that she bare the mark of it to her dying 
day. But the examples of cold are more frequent ; as in 
that famous story of Cuntius, when he touched the arm 
of a certa-'n woman of Pentoch, as she lay in her bed, he 
felt as cold as ice; and so did the spirit's daw to Anne 
Styles." — Ed. 1662, p. 135. 



tree is said to be the spot where Thomas the 
Rhymer uttered his prophecies. 

That mm who ne'er beholds the day. The 
circumstance of the nun "who never saw 
the day," is not entirely imaginary. About 
fifty years ago, an unfortunate feinale wanderer 
took up her residence in a dark vault, among 
the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey, which, during 
the day, she never quitted. When night fell, 
she issued from this miserable habitation, and 
went to the house of Mr. Haliburton of New- 
mains, the Editor's great-grandfather, or to that 
of Mr. Erskine of Sheilfield, two gentlemen of 
the neighborhood. From their charity she 
obtained such necessaries as she could be pre- 
vailed upon to accept. At twelve, each night, 
she lighted her candle, and returned to her 
vault, assuring her friendly neighbors that 
during her absence her habitation was arranged 
by a spirit, to whom she gave the uncouth name 
of Fatlips ; describing him as a little man, wear- 
ing heavy iron shoes, with which he trampled 
the clay floor of the vault, to dispel the damps. 
This circumstance caused her to be regarded, 
by the well-informed, with compassion, as de- 
ranged in her understanding ; and by the vulgar, 
with some degree of terror. The cause of her 
adopting this extraordinary mode of life she 
would never explain. It was, however, be- 
lieved to have been occasioned by a vow that 
during the absence of a man to whom she was 
attached, she would never look upon the sun. 
Her lover never returned. He fell during the 
civil war of 1745-46, and she nevermore would 
behold the light of day. 

The vault, or rather dungeon, in which this 
unfortunate woman lived and died, passes still 
by the name of the supernatural being with 
which its gloom was tenanted by her disturbed 
imagination, and few of the neighboring peasants 
dare enter it by night. 



(JTalisoto Castle. 

The ruins of Cadyow, or Cadzow Castle, the 
ancient baronial residence of the family of 
Hamilton, are situated upon the precipitous 
banks of the river Evan, about two miles above 
its junction with the Clyde. It was dismantled, 
in the conclusion of the Civil Wars, during the 
reign of the unfortunate Mary, to whose cause 
the house of Hamilton devoted themselves with 
a generous zeal, which occasioned their tempo- 
rary obscurity, and, very nearly, their total ruin. 
The situation of the ruins, embosomed in wood, 
darkened by ivy and creeping shrubs, and over- 
hanging the brawling torrent, is romantic in the 
highest degree. In the immediate vicinity of 
Cadyow is a grove of immense oaks, the re- 
mains of the Caledonian Forest, which anciently 
extended through the south of Scotland, from 
the eastern to the Atlantic Ocean. Some of 
these trees measure twenty-five feet, and up- 
wards, in circumference ; and the state of decay 
in which they now appear shows that they have 



628 



NOTES. 



witnessed the rites of the Uruids. The \vho]e 
scenery is included in the magnificent and ex- 
tensive park of the Duke of Hamilton. There 
was long preserved in this forest the breed of 
the Scottish wild cattle, until their ferocity oc- 
casioned their being extirpated, about forty years 
ago. Their appearance was beautiful, being 
milk-white, with black muzzles, horns, and 
hoofs. The bulls are described by ancienf 
authors as having white manes ; but those of 
latter days had lost that peculiarity, perhaps 
by intermixture with the tame breed. 

In detailing the death of the Regent Murray, 
which is made the subject of the following bal- 
lad, it would be injustice to my reader to use 
other words than those of Dr. Robertson, whose 
account of that memorable event forms a beau- 
tiful piece of historical jjainting. 

" Hamilton of Bothvvellhaugh was the ]5erson 
who committed this barbarous action. He had 
been condemned to death soon after the battle 
of Langside, as we have already related, and 
owed his life to the Regent's clemency. But 
part of his estate had been bestowed upon one 
of the Regent's favorites,^ who seized his house 
and turned out his wife, naked, in a cold night, 
into the open fields, where, before ne.xt morn- 
ing, she became furiously, mad. This injury 
made a deeper impression on him than tiie 
benefit he had received, and from that moment 
he vowed to be revenged of the Regent. Party 
rage strengthened and inflamed his private re- 
sentment. His kinsmen, the Hamiltons, ap- 
plauded the enterprise. The maxims of that 
age justified the most desperate course he could 
take to obtain vengeance. He followed the 
Regent for some time, and watched for an op- 
portunity to strike the blow. He resolved at 
last to wait till his enemy should arrive at Lin- 
lithgow, through which he was to pass in his 
way from Stirling to Edinburgh. He took his 
stand in a wooden gallery, which had a window 
towards the street ; spread a feather-bed on the 
floor to hinder the noise of his feet from being 
heard; hung up a black cloth behind him, that 
his shadow might not be observed froin with- 
out; and, after all this preparation, calmly ex- 
pected the Regent's approach, who had lodged, 
during the night, in a house not far distant. 
Some indistinct information of the danger which 
threatened him had been conveyed to the Re- 
gent, and he paid so much regard to it that he 
resolved to return by the same gate through 
which he had entered, and to fetch a compass 
round the town. But as the crowd about the 
gate was great, and he himself unacquainted 
with fear, he proceeded directly along the street ; 
and the throng of people obliging him to move 
very slowly, gave the assassin time to take so 
true an aim, that he shot him, with a single 
bullet, through the lower part of his belly, and 
killed the horse of a gentleman who rode on 
his other side. His followers instantly endeav- 
ored to break into the house whence the blow 

' This was Sir James Bellenden, Lord Justice-Clerk, 
whose shameful and inhuman rapacity occasioned the 
catastrophe in the text. 



had come ; but they found the door strongly 
barricadoed, and, before it could be forced open, 
Hamilton had inounted a fleet horse which stood 
ready for him at a back passage, and was got 
far beyond their reach. The Regent died the 
same night of his wound " {History of Scotland, 
book v.). 

Bothwellhaugh rode straight to Hamilton, 
where he was received in triumph; for the 
ashes of the houses in Clydesdale, which had 
been burned by Murray's army, were yet smok- 
ing ; and party prejudice, the habits of the age. 
and the enormity of the provocation, seemed to 
his kinsmen to justify the deed. After a short 
abode at Hamilton, this fierce and determined 
man left Scotland, and served in France, un- 
der the patronage of the family of Guise, to 
whom he was doubtless recommended by hav- 
ing avenged the cause of their niece. Queen 
Mary, upon her ungrateful brother. De Thou 
has recorded that an attempt was made to 
engage him to assassinate Caspar de Coligni, 
the famous Admiral of France, and the buckler 
of the Huguenot cause. But the character of 
Bothwellhaugh was mistaken. He was no 
mercenary trader in blood, and rejected the 
offer with contempt and indignation. He had 
no authority, he said, from Scotland to commit 
murders in France, he had avenged his own 
]ust quarrel, but he would neither, for price nor 
prayer, avenge that of another man ( T/uiamis, 
cap. 46 ). 

The Regent's death happened 23d January, 
1569. It is applauded or stigmatized, bv con- 
temporary historians, according to their reli- 
gious or party prejudices. The triumph of 
Blackwood is unbounded. He not only extols 
the pious feat of Bothwellhaugh, "who," he ob- 
serves, " satisfied, with a single ounce of lead, 
him whose sacrilegious avarice had stripped 
the metropolitan church of St. Andrews of its 
covering ; " but he ascribes it to immediate di- 
vine inspiration, and the escape of Hamilton to 
little less than the miraculous interference of 
the Deity (/ebb, vol. ii. p. 263). With equal in- 
justice, it was, by others, made the ground of a 
general national reflection ; for when Mather 
urged Berney to assassinate Burleigh, and 
quoted the examples of Poltrot and Bothwell- 
haugh, the other conspirator answered, '" that 
neyther Poltrot nor Ilambleton did attempt 
their enterpryse, without some reason or con- 
sideration to lead them to it ; as the one, by 
hyre, and promise of preferinent or rewarde ; 
the other, upon desperate mind of revenge, for 
a lyttle wrong done unto him, as the report 
goethe, according to the vyle trayterous dy.s- 
posysyon of the hoole natyon of the Scottes " 
(Miirdin's State Papers, vol. i. p. 197). 

Sound the pryse ! The note blown at the 
death of the game. 

Stern Clatid replied. Lord Claud Hamilton, 
second son of the Duke of Chatelherault, and 
commendator of the Abbey of Paisley, acted a 
distinguished part during the troubles of Queen 
Mary's reign, and remained unalterably attached 
to the cause of that unfortunate princess. He 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



629 



led the van of her army at the fatal battle of 
Langside, and was one of the commanders at 
the Raid of Stirling, which had so nearly given 
complete success to the queen's faction. He 
was ancestor of the present Marquis of Aber- 
corn. 

Woodhonselee. This barony, stretching along 
the banks of the Esk, near Auchendinny, be- 
longed to Bothwellhaugh, in right of his wife. 
The ruins of the mansion, from whence she was 
expelled in the brutal manner which occasioned 
her death, are still to be seen in a hollow glen 
beside the river. Popular report tenants them 
with the restless ghost of the Lady Bothwell- 
haugh ; whom, however, it confounds with Lady 
Anne Bothwell, whose Lament is so popular. 
This spectre is so tenacious of her rights, that, 
a part of the stones of the ancient edifice having 
been employed in building or repairing the pres- 
ent Woodhonselee, she has deemed it a part of 
her privilege to haunt that house also; and, 
even of very late years, has excited considerable 
disturbance and terror among the domestics. 
This is a more remarkable vindication of the 
rights of ghosts, as the present Woodhouselee is 
situated on the slope of the Pentland hills, dis- 
tant at least four miles from her proper abode. 
She always appears in white, and with her child 
in her arms. 

Drives to the leap his jaded steed. Birrel in- 
forms us, that Bothwellhaugh, being closely 
pursued, " after that spur and wand had failed 
him. he drew forth his dagger, and strocke his 
horse behind, whilk caused the horse to leap a 
very brode stanke [/. e. ditch], by whilk means 
he escapit, and gat away from all the rest of 
the horses" [Diary, p. 18). 

From the -wild Bordcr^s humbled side. Mur- 
ray's death took place shortly after an expedition 
to the Borders. 



With hackbut bent. With gun cocked. • The 
carbine, with which the Regent was shot is 
preserved at Hamilton Palace. It is a brass 
piece, of a middling length, very small in the 
bore, and, what is rather extraordinary, appears 
to have been rifled or indented in the barrel. 
It had a matchlock, for which a modern firelock 
has been injudiciously substituted. 

Dark Morton. He was concerned in the mur- 
der of David Rizzio, and at least privy to that 
of Darnley. 

77^1? wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan. This 
clan of Lennox Highlanders were attached to 
the Regent Murray. 

Glencairn and stout Parkhead7ue7-e nigh. The 
Earl of Glencairn was a steady adherent of the 
Regent. George Douglas of Parkhead was a 
natural brother of the Earl of Morton, whose 
horse was killed by the same ball by which 
Murray fell. 

Haggard Lindesayi's iron eye, etc. Lord Lind- 
say, of the Byres, was the most ferocious and 
brutal of the Regent's faction, and, as such, was 
employed to extort Mary's signature to the deed 
of resignation presented to her in Lochleven 
Castle. He discharged his commission with the 
most savage rigor ; and it is even said that 
when the weeping captive, in the act of signing, 
averted her eyes from the fatal deed, he pinched 
her arm with the grasp of his iron glove. 

So close the minions crozvded nigh. Not only 
had the Regent notice of the intended attempt 
upon his life, but even of the very house from 
which it was threatened. With that infatuation 
at which men wonder, after such events have 
happened, he deemed it would be a sufficient 
precaution to ride briskly past the dangerous 
spot. But even this was prevented by the 
crowd ; so that Bothwellhaugh had time to take 
a deliberate aim. 



jBiscellaneous poems. 



STfjc JSarti's Cncantatton. 

The Spectre with his Bloody Hand. The for- 
est of Glenmore is haunted by a spirit called 
Lhamdearg, or Red-hand. 

Largs and Loncarty. Where the Norwegian 
invader of Scotland received two bloody defeats. 

Coilgach. The Galgacus of Tacitus. 



®f)E ©ging 38ar». 

The Welsh tradition bears that a Bard, on his 
death-bed, demanded his harp, and ]5la}^;dthe air 
to which these verses are adapted; requesting 
that it might be performed at his funeral. 



The Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous coun- 
try, and possessing onlv an inferior breed of 
horses, were usually unable to encounter the 
shock of the Anglo-Norman cavalrv. Occasion- 
ally, however, thev were successful in repelling 
the invaders ; and the following verses are sup- 
posed to celebrate a defeat of Clare, Earl of 
Striguil and Pembroke, and of Neville, Barnn 
of Chepstow, Lords-Marchers of Monmouth- 
shire. Rymnv is a stream which divides the 
comities of Monmouth and Glamorgan. Caer- 
phili, the scene of the supposed battle, is a vale 
upon its banks, dignified by the ruins of a very 
ancient castle. 



630 



NOTES. 



Wc]t ilHatti of NciUpatfj. 

There is a tradition in Tweeddale, that, wiien 
Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited 
by the Earls of March, a mutual passion sub- 
sisted between a daughter of that noble family, 
and a son of the Laird of Tushielaw, in Ettrick 
Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuitable 
by her parents, the young man went abroad. 
During his absence the lady fell into a con- 
sumption ; and at length, as the onl}' means of 
saving her life, her father consented that her 
lover should be recalled. On the day when he 
was expected to pass through Peebles, on the 
road to Tushielaw, the young lady, though 
much exhausted, caused herself to be carried 
to the balcony of a house in Peebles, belonging 
to the family, that she might see him as he rode 
past. Her anxiety and eagerness gave such 
force to her organs, that she is said to have 
distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incred- 
ible distance. But Tushielaw, unprepared for 
the change in her appearance, and not expecting 
to see her in that place, rode on without recog- 
nizing her, or even slackening his pace. The 
lady was unable to support the shock ; and, 
after a short struggle, died in the arms of her 
attendants. There is an incident similar to 
this traditional tale in Count Hamilton's Fleur 
ii '' Epinc. 



3ri)e IJlassacrc of (Sleucoe. 

This event, which occurred early in 169?, was 
one of the most barbarous that disgraced the 
government of King William III., in Scotland. 
Macdonald, of Glencoe, was prevented by acci- 
dent, rather than design, from tendering his 
submission to the king within the specified 
time ; and orders were given to proceed to 
military execution against the clan. Nearly 
forty persons were massacred by the troops ; 
and several who fled to the mountains perished 
by famine and the inclemency of the season. 
Those who escaped owed their lives to a tem- 
pestuous night. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, 
who had received the charge of the execution, 
was on his march with four hundred men, to 
guard all the passes from the valley of Glencoe ; 
but he was obliged to stop by the severity of 
the weather, which proved the safety of the 
unfortunate clan. Next day he entered the 
valley, laid the houses in ashes, and carried 
away the cattle and spoil, which were divided 
among the officers and soldiers. 



Saint (Clouli. 

These lines* were written after an evening 
spent at Saint Cloud with the late Lady Alvan- 
ley and her daughters, one of whom was the 
songstress alluded to in the text. 



Komance of ©unois. 

The original of this little romance makes 
part of a manuscript collection of French Songs, 
probably compiled by some young officer, which 
was found on the field of Waterloo, so much 
stained with clay and with blood as sufficiently 
to indicate the fate of its late owner. The song 
is popular in France, and is rather a good speci- 
men of the style of composition to which it be- 
longs. The translation is strictly literal. 



^ibrocb of HBonalB Sfju. 

This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to 
Clan Macdonald, and supposed to refer to the 
expedition of Donald Balloch, who, in 1431, 
launched from the Isles with a considerable 
force, invaded Lochaber, and at Inverlochy de- 
feated and put to flight the Earls of Mar and 
Caithness, though at the head of an army su- 
perior to his own. The words of the set, theme, 
or melody, to which the pipe variations are ap- 
plied, run thus in Gaelic : —- 

Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireacbd Dhonuil ; 
Piobaireaclid Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dlionuil ; 
Piobaireachd Dlionuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil ; 
Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi. 
The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, 
The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, 
The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place 
at Inverlochv. 



i^ora's Fob). 

In the original Gaelic, the Lady makes pro- 
testations that she will not go with the Red 
Earl's son, until the swan should build in the 
cliff, and the eagle in the lake, — until one 
mountain should change places with another, 
and so forth. It is but fair to add that there 
is no authority for supposing that she altered 
her mind, — except the vehemence of her pro- 
testation. 



fEacgrrgor's ffiatJjcrtng. 

These verses are adapted to a very wild, yet 
lively gathering tune, used by the Macgregors. 
The severe treatment of this clan, their out- 
lawry, and the proscription of their very name, 
are alluded to in the ballad. 



®f)E ilHorfes of JSangor's fflarcfj. 

Ethelfrid, or Olfrid, King of Northumber- 
land, having besieged Chester in 613, and Brock- 
mael, a British prince, advancing to relieve it, 
the religious of the neighboring Monastery of 
Bangor marched in procession, to pray for the 
success of their countrymen. But the British 
being totally defeated, the heathen victor put 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



631 



the monks to the sword, and destroyed their 
monastery. The tune to which these verses are 
adapted is called the Monks' March, and is 
supposed to have been played at their ill-omened 
procession. 



3ri)j .Searri) after lljappincss. 

The hint of the tale is taken from La Camiscia 
Magica, a novel of Giam Battista Casti. 



lEachrimmon's ILamcnt. 

Mackrimmon, hereditary piper to the Laird of 
Macleod, is said to have composed this Lament 
when the clan was about to depart upon a dis- 
tant and dangerous expedition. The minstrel 
was impressed with a belief, which the event 
verified, that he was to be slain in the approach- 
ing feud ; and hence the Gaelic words, " Cha 
till mi tuille ; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Mac- 
krimmon," that is, " I shall never return ; al- 
though Macleod returns, yet Mackrimmon shall 
never return ! " The piece is but too well known, 
from its being the strain with which the emi- 
grants from the West Highlands and Isles usu- 
ally take leave of their native shore. 



Subcnile 3Ltne« from Uirgil. 

Scott's autobiography tells us that his trans- 
lations in verse from Horace and Virgil were 
often approved by Dr. Adams, Rector of the 
High School, Edinburgh. One of these little 
pieces, written in a weak boyish scrawl, within 
pencilled marks still visible, had been carefully 
preserved by his mother : it was found folded 
up in a cover, inscribed by the old lady " My 
Walter's first lines, 1782." 



©n a 3rJ)untier=StonK. 

In Scott's Introduction to the Lay, he alludes 
to an original effusion of these " schoolboy 
days," prompted by a thunder-storm, which he 
says " was much approved of, until a malevolent 
critic sprung up in the shape of an apothecary's 
blue-buskined wife," etc. These lines, and 
another short piece " On the Setting Sun," were 
lately found wrapped up in a cover, inscribed 
by Dr. Adam, " Walter Scott, July, 1783." 



3rf)C ffirag Brother. 

The imperfect state of this ballad, which was 
written several years ago, is not a circumstance 



affected for the purpose of giving it that pe- 
culiar interest which is often found to arise 
from ungratified curiosity. On the contrary, it 
was the Editor's intention to have completed 
the tale, if he had found himself able to suc- 
ceed to his own satisfaction. Yielding to the 
opinion of persons, whose judgment, if not 
biassed by the partiality of friendship, is entitled 
to deference, he has preferred inserting these 
verses as a fragment, to his intention of entirely 
suppressing them. 

The tradition upon which the tale is founded 
regards a house upon the barony of Gilmerton, 
near Lasswade, in Mid-Lothian. This build- 
ing, now called Gilmerton Grange, was origi- 
nally named Burndale, from the following tragic 
adventure. The barony of Gilmerton belonged, 
of yore, to a gentleman named Heron, who had 
one beautiful daughter. This young lady was 
seduced by the Abbot of Newbattle, a richly 
endowed abbey upon the banks of the South 
Esk, now a seat of the Marcjuis of Lothian. 
Heron came to the knowledge of this circum- 
stance, and learned also that the lovers carried 
on their guilty intercourse by the connivance 
of the lady's nurse, who lived at this house of 
Gilmerton Grange, or Burndale. He formed 
a resolution of bloody vengeance, undeterred by 
the supposed sanctity of the clerical character, 
or by the stronger claims of natural affection. 
Choosing, therefore, a dark and windy night, 
when the objects of his vengeance were engaged 
in a stolen interview, he set fire to a stack of 
dried thorns and other combustibles, which he 
had caused to be piled against the house, and 
reduced to a pile of glowing ashes the dwelling, 
with all its inmates. 

The scene with which the ballad opens, was 
suggested by the following curious passage, ex- 
tracted from the Life of Alexander Peden, one 
of the wandering and persecuted teachers of 
the sect of Cameronians, during the reign of 
Charles II. and his successor, James. This 
person was supposed by his followers, and, 
perhaps, really believed himself, to be possessed 
of supernatural gifts ; for the wild scenes which 
they frequented, and the constant dangers which 
were incurred through their proscription, deep- 
ened upon their minds the gloom of supersti- 
tion, so general in that age. 

" About the same time he [Peden] came to 
Andrew Normand's house, in the parish of 
Alloway, in the shire of Ayr, being to preach 
at night in his barn. After he came in, he 
halted a little, leaning upon a chair-back, with 
his face covered; when he lifted up his head 
he said, ' They are in this house that I have 
not one word of salvation unto ; ' he halted a 
little again, saying, ' This is strange, that the 
devil will not go out, that we may begin our 
work ! ' Then there was a woman went out, 
ill-looked upon almost all her life, and to her 
dying hour, for a witch, with many presump- 
tions of the same. It escaped me, in the former 
passages, what John Muirhead (whom I have 
often mentioned) told me, that when he came 
from Ireland to Galloway, he was at family- 



632 



NOTES. 



worship, and giving some notes upon the Scrip- 
ture read, when a very ill-looking man came, 
and sat down within the door, at the back of 
t\\%- kalian [partition of the cottage]: immedi- 
ately he halted and said, ' There is some un- 
hapjjy body just now come into this house. I 
charge him to go out, and not stop my mouth!' 
This person went out, and he insisted [went 
on], yet he saw him neither come in nor go 
out." 



In The Reiver'' s lVeddi7ig, the Poet had 
evidently designed to blend together two tradi- 
tional stories concerning his own forefathers, 
the Scotts of Harden, which are detailed in the 
first chapters of his Life. The biographer adds : 
" I know not for what reason, Lochwood, the 
ancient fortress of the Johnstones in Annandale, 
has been substituted for the real locality of his 
ancestor's drumhead Wedding Contract." 



Jfldttoes from tlje ii^obels. 



In the Introduction to Chronicles of the 
Canojtgate, Scott says : " The scraps of poetry 
which have been in most cases tacked to the 
beginning of chapters in these Novels, are 
sometimes quoted either from reading or from 
memory, but, in the general case, are pure in- 
vention. I found it too troublesome to turn to 



the collection of the British Poets to discover 
apposite mottoes, and, in the situation of the 
theatrical mechanist, who, when the white paper 
which represented his shower of snow was ex- 
hausted, continued the shower by snowing 
brown, I drew on my memory as long as I could, 
and when that failed, eked it out with invention." 




GLOSSARY. 



abbaye, abbey. 

acton, buckram vest worn under armor. 

air, sand-bank, 

almagest, astronomical or astrological treatise. 

Alniayn, German. 

amice, ecclesiastical vestment. 

aiigel, a gold coin. 

arquebus, hagbut, or heavy musket. 

aventayle, movable front of helmet. 

baldric, belt. 

bale, beacon-fire. 

balliitm, fortified court. 

bandelier, belt for carrying ammunition. 

ban-dog, watch-dog. 

bandrol, a kind of banner or ensign. 

barbican, fortification at castle-gate. 

barded, armored (of horses). 

barret-cap, cloth cap. 

bartizan, small overhanging turret. 

basnet, light helmet. 

battalia, battalion, army [not a plural). 

battle, army. 

beadsman, one hired to offer prayers for an- 
other. 

beaver, movable front of helmet. 

Beltane, the first of May (a Celtic festival). 

hend, bind. 

bend (noun), heraldic term. 

bent, slope. 

beshrew, may evil befall ; confound. 

bill, a kind of battle-axe or halberd. 

billmen, troops armed with the bill. 

black-jack, leather jug or pitcher. 

blaze, blazon, proclaim. 

bonnet-pieces, gold coins with the king's cap 
(bonnet) on them. 

bonne, bowne, prepare, make ready. 

bonne, ready, prepared. 

bffiver, chamber, lodging-place ; lady's apart- 
ments. 

bracken, fern. 

brae, hillside. 

bratchet, slowhound. 

brigantine, a kind of body armor. 
^ brigg, bridge. 
^ broke, cjuartered (the cutting up of a deer). 

buff, a thick cloth. 

buxom, lively. 

by times, betimes, earlv. 



caird, tinker. 

cairn, heap of stones. 

canna, cotton-grass. 

cap of maintenance, cap worn by the king-at- 

arms or chief herald. 
cast, pair (of hawks). 
chanters, the pipes of the bagpipe. 
check at, meditate attack (in falconry). 
cheer, face, countenance. 
claymore, a large sword. 
clerk, scholar. 
clip, clasp, embrace. 
coTiibust, astrological term. 
corbel, bracket. 
coronach, dirge. 

correi, hollow in hillside, resort of game. 
crabs, crab-apples. 

crenell, aperture for shooting arrows through. 
cresset, hanging lamp or chandelier. 
culver, small cannon. 
cumber, trouble. 

curch, matron's coif, or head-dress. 
cushat-dove, wood-pigeon. 

darkling, in the dark. 

deas, dais, platform. 

deft, skilful. 

demi-volt, movement in horsemanship. 

digJit, decked, dressed. 

donjon, main tower or keep of a castle. 

doom, judgment, arbitration. 

double tressure, a kind of border in heraldry. 

do7U7i, hill. 

drie, suffer, endure. 

ear7i (see erne). 

eburnine, made of ivory. 

embossed, foaming at the mouth (hunter's term). 

emprise, enterprise. 

erne, eagle. 

falcon, a kind of small cannon. 

fay, faith. 

featly, skilfully. 

flemens-frth, asylum for outlaws. 

foray, raid, incursion. 

foj-ce, waterfall. 

fosse, ditch, moat. 

fretted, adorned with raised work. 

fro, from. 

frounced, flounced, plaited. 



6t,6 



GLOSSARY. 



galliard, a lively dance. 

gallowglasses, heavy-armed soldiers (Celtic). 

gazehoiind, a hound that pursues by sight rather 

than scent. 
gkast, ghastly. 

gipo)i, doublet or jacket worn under armor. 
glaive, broadsword. 
glamour, magical illusion. 
glee-maiden, dancing-girl. 
glazing, flattering. 
gorged, having the throat cut. 
gorget, armor for the throat. 
gramarye, magic. 

gramercy, great thanks (^xqwq!^., grand nierei). 
gripple, grasping, miserly. 
grisly, horrible, grim. 
guarded, edged, trimmed. 
gules, red (heraldic). 

hackbuteer, soldier armed with hackbut or hag- 

but. 
nag, broken ground in a bog. 
haglmt [hackbut, haqiiebut, arquebus, harquebiiss, 

etc.), a heavy musket. 
halberd {Iialbert) , coxvUoxw^A spear and battle-axe. 
hale, haul, drag. 
hanger, short broadsword. 
harried, plundered, sacked. 
hearse, canopy over tomb, or the tomb itself. 
hencJunan, page, attendant. 
heriot, tribute due to a lord from a vassal. 
heron-shetu, young heron. 
hight, called, named. 
holt, wood, woodland. 
hosen, hose (old plural). 

idlesse, idleness. 
imp, child. 
inch, island. 

;ack, leather jacket, a kind of armor for the 

body. 
jennet, a small Spanish horse. 
jerkin, a kind of short coat. 

kale, broth. 

kern, light-armed soldier (Celtic). 

kill, cell. 

kirn, Scottish harvest-home. 

kirtlc, skirt, gown. 

knosp, knob (architectural). 

largesse, largess, liberality, gift. 

lauds, midnight service of the Catholic Church. 

laverock, lark. 

leaguer, camp. 

leash, thong for leading greyhound ; also the 

hounds so led. 
levin, lightning, thunderbolt. 
Lincoln green, a cloth worn by huntsmen. 
linn, waterfall ; pool below fall ; precipice. 
linstock (lintstock), handle for lint, or match used 

in firing cannon. 
lists, enclosure for tournament. 
litherlie, mischievous, vicious. 
lorn, lost. 
lourd, rather. 



lurch, rob. 

lurcher, a dog that lurches (lurks), or lies in 

wait. for game. 
lyke-wake, watching of corpse before burial. 

make, do. 

malisoti, malediction, curse. 

Malvoisie, Malmsey wine. 

march, border, frontier. 

march-treason, offences committed on the Border. 

massy, massive. 

tnavis, thrush. 

mere, lake. 

merle, blackbird. 

j)tewed, shut up, confined. 

iiiickle, much, great. 

■minion, favorite. 

miniver, a kind of fur. 

morion, steel cap, helmet. 

morrice-pike, long heavy spear. 

morris, a kind of dance. 

morsing-horns, powder-flasks. 

mot (mote), must, might. 

muir, moor, heath. 

need-fire, beacon-fire. 

oe, island. 

Omrahs, nobles (Turkish). 
or, gold (heraldic). 
oxvches, jewels. 

palmer, pilgrim to Holy Land. 

pardoner, seller of priestly indulgences. 

pa7-tisan, halberd. 

peel. Border tower. 

pensils, small pennons or streamers. 

pentacle, magic diagram. 

pibroch. Highland air on bagpipe. 

pied, variegated. 

pinnet, pinnacle. 

placket, stomacher, petticoat, slit in petticoat, etc. 

plump, body of cavalry ; group, company. 

port, martial bagpipe music. 

post and pair, an old game at cards. 

presence, royal presence-chamber. 

pricked, spurred. 

pursuivant, attendant on herald. 

quaigh, wooden cup. 
quarry, game (hunter's term). 
quatre-feuille, quatrefoil (Gothic ornament). 
quit, requite. 

rack, floating cloud. 

racking, flying, like breaking cloud. 

rade, rode (old form). 

rais, master of a vessel. 

reads, counsels. 

reave, tear away. 

rede, story ; counsel, advice. 

retrograde, astrological term. 

risp, creak. 

rochet, bishop's short surplice. 

rood, cross (as in Holy-Rood). 

room, piece of land. 

i'oivan, mountain-ash. 

ruth, pity, compassion. 



GLOSSARY. 



^17 



sack, Sherry or Canary wine. 
sackless, innocent. 
saga, Scandinavian epic. 
salvo-shot, salute of artillery. 
saye, say, assertion. 
scalds, Scandinavian minstrels. 
scapula)-, ecclesiastical scarf. 
scathe, harm, injury. 
scaur, cliff, precipice. 
scrae, bank of loose stones. 
scrogg, shady wood. 
sea-dog, seal. 
selle, saddle. 

setieschal, steward of castle. 
server, officer who serves up a feast. 
shalin, shawm, musical instrument. 
sheeliug, shepherd's hut. 
sheen, bright, shining. 
shrieve, shrive, absolve. 
shroud, garment, plaid. 
sleights, tricks, stratagems. 
slogan, Highland battle-cry. 
snood, maiden's hair-band or fillet 
soland, solan-goose, gannet. 
sooth, true, truth. 
sped, despatched, " done for." 
spell, make out, study out. 
springlet, small spring. 
spurn, kick. 

stag of ten, one having ten branches on his antlers. 
stance, station. 
' stirrup-cup, parting cup. 
stole, ecclesiastical scarf (sometimes robe). 
stoled, wearing the stole, 
store (adjective), stored up. 
stowrc, battle, tumult. 
strain, stock, race. 
strath, broad river-valley. 
strathspey, a Highland dance. 
streight, strait. 
strook, struck, stricken. 

tabard, herald's coat. 
tarn, mountain lake. 
throstle, thrush. 
tide, time 



tire, head-dress. 
tottered, tattered, ragged. 
train, allure, entice. 
tressure, border (heraldic). 
trews. Highland trousers. 
trine, astrological term. 
trow, believe, trust. 

tineath, not easily, with difficulty. 
unsparred, unbarred. 
upsees. Bacchanalian cry or interjection. 
urchin, elf. 

vail, avail. 

vail, lower, let fall. 

vair, fur of squirrel. 

vantage-coign, advantageous corner. 

va7vard, van, front. 

vilde, vile. 

zuan, won (old form). 

Warden-raid, a raid commanded by a Border 

Warden in person. 
warped, frozen. 

warrison, " note of assault" (Scott). 
wassail, spiced ale ; drinking-bout. 
weapon-schaw, military array of a county; muster. 
weed, garment. 
whenas, when. 

whilere (while-ere), erewhile, a while ago. 
whilom {whilome), formerly. 
whin, gorse, furze. 
whingers, knives, poniards. 
whinyard, hunter's knife. 
wight, active, gallant, warlike. 
tuildering, bewildering. 
wimple, veil. 
zvoe-worth, woe be to. 
waned, dwelt. 

wraith, apparition, spectre. 
wreak, avenge. 

yare, ready. 
yerk, jerk. 
yode,vi&\\X. (archaic). 




INDEX. 



A. 

"Abbot," Mottoes from the, 550, 

551- 
Abercorn, Marquis of, dedication of 

" The Lady of the Lake " to, 151. 
Abercromby, Sir Ralph, tribute to the 

memory of, 86. 
" Admire not that I gained," 537. 
Albania, a poem, extract from, 624, «., 

625, n. 
Albyn's Anthology, Songs written for, 

512, 513, 520. 521- 
" Alice Brand," 207. 
" Ai,len-a-Dale," 300. 
Alvanley, Lady, 630, n. 
Ambition, personification of, 261. 
"Ancient Gaelic Melody," 531. 
Ancram Moor, battle of, 575, n. 
Angus, Archibald, sixth Earl of, called 

" Bell-the-Cat," 119, 5gi, n. 
Angus, seventh Earl of, 38, 172, 575, «., 

597, «• 
"An hour with thee," 536. 
Annals of Scotland, 621, «., 622, n. 
"Anne of Geierstein," Mottoes 

from, 55g, 560. 
" Antiquary," Mottoes from the, 

545, 546. 
Antiquities of Westmoreland and Cum- 
berland, 614, n. 
Aram, Eugene, remarkable case of, 

6og, n. 
Archers, English, 113, 416, 590, ?:., 

622, 11. 
Argentine, Sir Giles de, 376, 419, 617, «. 
Arran, Island of, 401, 620, n. 
Arthur, King, 341-350, 580, n, 581, k., 

614, «., 615, n. 
Artornish Castle, 616, «. 
Ascetic religionists, 598, n. 
Ascham, 622, n. 
Ashton, Lucy, Song of, 531. 
Athole, John de Strathbogie, Earl of 

(temp. Rob. L), 6tS, n. 



B. 

Baillie, Joanna, Prologue to her 
" Family Legend," 498. 

" B.\llads from the German," 467- 
481. 

Bangor, the Monks of, 520, 630, «. 

" Bannatvne Club, The," 523. 

Bannockburn, Battle of, 414; stanza 18 
to end of the poem. See also notes, 
pp. 622, 623. 

" Bard's Incantation, The," writ- 
ten under the threat of invasion 1 804, 
492, 629, n. 

" Barefooted Friar, The," 532. 

Barnard Castle, 273,283, 607, «., 608, n. 

Barrington, Shute, Bishop of Durham, 



" Battle of Sempach," 475. 
Beacons, 26, 573, n. 
Bealach-nam-bo, Pass of, 200. 
Bear an Duine, skirmish at, 239, 

601, 71. 

Beattie, Mr., of Mickledale, 56S, n. 

Bellenden, 31, 575, n. 

Bell-Rock Lighthouse, lines on visit- 
ing, 503. 

Beltane-tree, the, 482, 626, n. 

Ben-an mountain, 157. 

Benledi, 153. 

Benvenue, 156. 

Benvoirlich, 152. 

Beresford, Field-marshal Lord, tribute 
to, 26S. His training the Portu- 
guese troops, 604, «. 

,501 

Berwick, North, 124. 

" Betrothed," Mottoes from the, 557. 

Bethune, or Beaton, family of, 8, 
571, «. 

Bigotry, personification of, 259. 

Binram's Corse, tradition of, 585, n. 

Biting the thumb, or the glove, 50, 
576, «• 

" Black Dwarf," Mottoes from the, 
546. 

Blackford Hill, 108. 

Black-mail, 28. 

Blair, Right Honorable Robert, Lord 
President of the Court of Session, 
death of, 602, n. 

Blood of which party first shed, an 
augury of sviccess in battle, 205, 
600, n. 

Blood-hound, or Slidth-hound, 9, 153, 

57', «•> S9&- «• 

" Boat Song," 177. 

Bohun, Sir Henry de, his encounter 
with King Robert Bruce, 414, 622, «. 

" Bold Dragoon, or the Plain of 
Badajos," 501. 

Bolero, a .Spanish dance, 260, 603, n. 

Bonaparte, Napoleon, allusions to in 
"The Vision of Don Roderick," 
261, 266, 267, 604, 71. ; and in " The 
Field of Waterloo," 425 to 431, 623, 
n. Apostrophe to the period of his 
fall, 409, 410. 

, 501 • 

Bond of Alliance, or feud stanchmg, 
betwixt the clans of Scott and Kerr, 
(1529) 570, u. 

" BoNNv I Iundee," 537. 

Book of the Universal Kirk, 601, «. 

"Border Ballad," 533. 

Borderers, Scottish, Places of their 
herdsmen's refuge, 574, n. March- 
treason, 575, n. Form of oath, 575, 
n. Regulations in 1648, S75, «. 
Friendly intercourse with the Eng- 
lish, 576, n. Foot-ball play, 576, n. 
Manner of carrying on depredations, 
6og, n. 

41 



Borough-moor of Edinburgh, 108, 
590, n. 

Bothwell, Adam Hepburn, Earl of, 
(temp. Jac- IV.) 104, 5S9, «. 

— — James Hepburn, Earl of, {temp. 
Mary) 38, 576, «. 

" Bothwell Castle," 540. 

Bowhill, 58. 

Brackenbury Tower, 291, 609, «. 

Bracklinn Cascade, 174, 598, n. 

Branksome Castle, 5 passim, 570, «. 

" Bridal of Triermain,'' 337. See 
also 616, 71. 

" Bride of Lammermoor," Mottoes 
from the, 548. 

Brigg, or Bridge of Turk, 153. 

Brodick Castle, Arran, 402, 620, n. 

" Brooch of Lorn," the, 377, 617, «. 

Bruce, King Robert, defeated by the 
Lord of Lome, 617, n. His com- 
punction for violation of the sanctu- 
ary by the slaughter of Comyn, 61S, 
«. Excommunicated for it, 618, «. 
Sequel to that adventure told by 
Barbour, 619, 71. Tradition that he 
was at the battle of Falkirk inaccu- 
rate, 618, 71. Crossed the Peninsula 
of Cantyre, 620, «. Landing in 
Arran, 396. Instance of his hu- 
manity, 397, 620, 71. His landing in 
Carrick, 402, 405, 620, « Defeats the 
Earl of Pembroke, 62J, 7t. Block- 
ade of Stirling Castle, 410, 621, «. 
Encounter with Sir Henry de Bohun, 
414, 622, ;/. Battle of Bannockburn, 
415 to end of the poem, and 622 to 
end of the notes. 

Bruce, Edward, brother of King Rob- 
ert, 410, 620, «., 621, «. 

Nigel, another brother of the 

King, 381. 

Brunswick, Duke of, slain at Jena, 86. 

Buccaniers, 2S0, 286, 607, «., 60S, «., 

609, «., 610, 71. 

Buccleuch, ancestors of the house of, 
570, «. Romantic origin of the name, 
51, 570, «., 571, «. 

Charles, Duke of, Letters in 

Verse to, 503. 

Harriet, Duchess of, 74, 568, «. 

Tribute to her memory, 420. 

Byron, Lord, Remarks on a conversa- 
tion betwixt him and Captain Med- 
win, 569, 71. His Satire on Marmion, 
579, «. Lines on Pitt and Fox, 
62,63. 



Cadogan, Colonel, tribute to the mem- 
ory of, 268. 

" Cadyow Castle," 488, 627, n. 

" CairTis," 26, 574, «■ 

Caledonian Forest and wild cattle, 489, 
627, «. 



642 



Cambusmore, 153- 

Cameron, Colonel, killed at Fuentes 

de Honoro, 268, 604, n. 
Colonel, of Fassiefern, killed at 

Quatre-Bras, 429, 507. 
Canieronians, 631, n. 
Camp, a favorite dog of the author's, 

99. 
Carina, island and town of, 393, 6ig, ?/. 
Cantyre, peninsula of, 395, 620, n. 
"Castle Dangerous," Mottoes 

from, 561. 
"Castle of the Seven Shields," 

ballad of the, 453. 
Cave, Mac-Allister's, in Strathaird, 

619, «. 
Caxton, William, loi. 
Chapel Ptrilous, 63, 580, k. 
Charles I., King, 611, «. 
Edward, Prince, one of his places 

of retreat, 597, 7i. 
Charms, healing, 25, 26, 576, «. 
Chace, the royal, in Ettrick Forest, 

584, n. 
Chastity, punishment for broken vows 

of, 84, 588, n. 
" Cheviot," 543. 
Chivalry, 34, 306, 575, «., 611, n. 
Christmas, 128, 592, n. 
"Chronicles of the Canongate," 

Mottoes from, 559, 632, «. 
" Claud Halcro's Song," 534. 
Claverhouse, Grahame of. See Dun- 
dee. 
"Cleveland's Songs," 535. 
Coir-nan-Uriskin, igg, 599, n 
Coleridge, S. T., his " Christabel," 

569, n. " The Bridal of Triermain," 

an imitation of his style, 337. 
Collins, his flights of imagination, 

338- 
Colwulf, King of Northumberland, Si, 

5S7, n. 
Combat, single, 34, 36, ,121, 222. 
Comyn, the Red, 375, 378, 382, 618, «. 
Conscience, 273, 275. 
Constable, Mr. Archibald, his "bold 

and liberal industry," 570, n. 
Coronach of the Highlanders, 194, 

599, 71. 
"Count Robert of Paris," Mot- 
toes from, 560, 561. 
"County Guv," Song, 535. 
Cranstoun, family of, 571, 11. 
Crichtoun Castle, 103, 589, n. 
Critical Review, 614, 71. 
Cromwell, Oliver, his conduct at Mar- 

ston Mooi", 279, 291, 607, 71. 
Cup, a drinking one, at Dunevegan, 

617, «. 
" Curch, the," worn by Scottish ma- 
trons, 598, 71. 

" Cypress Wreath, The," 314. 



D. 



Dacre, 29, 574, n. 

Dahomav, spell of, 359. 

D.ilhousie, Earl of, tribute to, 502. 

Dalkeith, Charles, Earl of, (afterwards 
Duke of Bucc'.euch) dedication of 
"The Lay of the Last Minstrel" 
to, 3 See Buccleuch. 

Harriet, Countess of (afterwards 

Duchess of Buccleuch), 568, «. See 
a'so Buccleuch. 

Dalzell, Sir William, his combat with 
Sir Piers Courtenay, 583, «. 

" Dance of Death, The," 507. 

Danes, the, invasion of Northumber- 
land by, 301, 610, «. Traces of their 
religion in 'I'eesdale, 6io, «. 
Daoine S/il,' or " men of peace," 
592, n., 600, 7t. 



INDEX. 



David I., King, founded Melrose Ab- 
hey, 571, «." A sore saint for the 
crown, 571, fi. 

'' Dead bell" the, 588, «. 

Death, presages of, 599, «. 

"Death of Keeldar, The," 525. 

Deloraine, lands of, 571, 11. 

Description of the Western Islands, 

597. «• 
" Donald Cairo s come again, 521. 

Do7ijo7i, what, 582, 71. 

"Don Roderick, The Vision of," 

^53- , . . 

Douglas, the House of, 593, «■ Ancient 
sword belonging to, 592, «. 

Archibald, third Earl of, called 

" Tine-man," 598, ;/. 

" The Good Lord James " charged 

to carry the Bruce' s heart to the 
Holy Land, 618, «. In Arran, 
620, 71. Makes prisoners of Murray 
and Bonkle, 620, «. Often took 
the Castle of Douglas, 621, «. His 
'■'Larder," 621, «. At Bannock- 
burn, 415. 

William, " the knight of Liddes- 

da)e," 14, 572, 71. 

Gawain, Bishop of Dunkeld, 135, 

593. n. 

Doune Castle, 226. 

Drinking cup, description of, 617, «. 

Dryburgh Abbey, 487, 627, «■ 

Dryden, his account of his projected 
epic poem of '' The Round Table," 
64, 581, «. 

Duelling, 224, 601, 71. 

Dundas, Right Honorable William, 

579) "■ 
Dundee, Viscount (Grahame of Claver- 
house), 28, 574, 71. His character, 

597, «■ . 
Dunmailraise, 340, 614, «. 
" DuNois, Romance of," 50S. 
Dunslaffnage Castle, 617, «. 
Durham Cathedral, 445. 
" Dying Bard, The," 494, 629, «. 



Edelfled, daughter of King Oswy, 

So, 586, 71. 

Edinburgh, ancient cross of, 22, 
592, «. 

Annual Register, 612, «., 614, «. 

Old Town of, III. 590, «. 

Edward I., King. His employment of 
the Welsh in his Scottish wars, 
621, 7t. Sets out to destroy the 
Bruce, 392, 619, 7t. His death, 

619, 71. 

II. at Bannockburn, 416. His 

gallantry, 623, «. 

Esliston Abbey, 284, 60S, «. 

Eiijg, cave in the Island of, the scene 
of a dreadful act of vengeance, 
6ig, «. 

Ei'don Hills, 14, 572, n 

Ellis, George. Esq., 582, «. Dedica- 
tion to him of the Fifth Canto of 
Marmion, iii- 

Elves, 600, 71. See " Fairies." 

English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, 

579; ''• 
Ennui, 436, 464. 
Epic Poem, a receipt to make an, 

612, 11. 

Poetry, 612, « 

"Epilogues." To The Appeal, a 

Tragedy, 520. Play of St. Ronan's 

Weil, 524. Queen Mary, 525. 
" Epitaphs." — Miss Seward, 498. 

Mrs. Erskine, 521. The Rev. 

George Scott, 526. 
" Erl King, The," 481. 



Erskine, Thomas Lord, speech of, on 
humanity towards animals, 622, «. 

William, Esq. (Lord Kinneder), 

dedication to, of the Third Canto of 
Marmion, 86. Reputed author of 
'• The Bridal of Triermain," 616, «. 

Mrs., Epitaph on, 521. 

Ettrick Forest, 584, «. 

Eugene Aram, lemarkable case of, 

609, 71. 

" Eve of St. John," 486. See also 

627, 71. 

Excursion to the Lakes, 615, «. 

F. 

Fairies, 588, «., 600, «., 603, «. 
"Fair Maid of Perth," Mottoes 

from the, 559 
Fancy, power of, in youth, 282. 
"Farewell to Mackenzie, High 

Chief of Kintail," from the Gaelic, 

505- 
" Farewell Imitation of, 506. 

" TO the Muse," 522. 

" Song of the," 318. 

Ferragus and Ascabart, 164, 597, n. 

Feuds, 570, 71. 

" Field of Waterloo," poem of the, 

423, 623, 71. 

Fiery Cross, the, 187, 188, 598, «. 

Fingal's Cave at Staffa, 394. 

" FiKE King," ballad of the, 472, 

625, 71. 

Flanders, manner of reaping in, 623, n. 
Flodden, account of the battle of, 139. 
Florinda, daughter of Count Julian, 

255, 603, «. 
" Flower of Yarrow," Mary Scott, 30, 

554, »■ 

" Flying Dutchman, the," 6og, «. 

Football, game of, 509, 576, 71. 

" Foray, The" 526. 

Forbes, Sir William (author of " The 
Life of Beatlie "), tribute to his 
memory, 99, 589, «. 

" Fortunes of Nigel," Mottoes 
from the, 553-555. 

Fox, Right Honorable Charles James, 
" among those who smiled on the 
adventurous minstrel," 570, n. 
Never applied to by Scott regarding 
his appointment as a Clerk of Ses- 
sion, 579, 71. Tribute to his mem- 
ory, 62. 

Franch^mont, superstitious belief re- 
garding the Castle of, 129, 593, n. 

Eraser [or Frizel], Sir Simon, ancestor 
of the family of Lovat, fate of, 381. 

" Frederick and Alice," 475, 625, n. 

French army in the Peninsula, move- 
ments of, application to, of prophe- 
cies of Joel, 603, 71. Retreat of, 
March 181 1, 603, «. 

" Friar Rush," 100, 589, 71. 

" From the French," 509. 

Fuentes d'Honoro, action of, 604, «. 

" Funeral Hymn," 532. 



G. 



" Gaelic Melody, Ancient," 531. 

Gala, the river, 367. 

Gait, John, Esq., epilogue to his 

tragedy of "The Appeal," 520. 
" German Ballads, translated or 

imitated," 467-481. 
German hackbut-men, 2g, 574, «. 
Ghost of the Lady Bothwellhaugh, 

629, «. 
Clifford, village and castle of, 88. 
GlaiJiour. 22, 573, 71. 
" (}lee Maiden, Song of the," 536. 
Glee-maidens, 236, 601, «. 



INDEX. 



64: 



Glencairn, " The Good Earl " of, 

490, 629, n. 
" Glencoe, On the Massacre of," 

501, 630, 71. 
" GlbNFINLAS," 482, 626, 11. 

Goblin-Hall, the, 94, 588, «. 

Goblin-Page. Lord Cranstoun's, 573, 11. 

Gordon, Colonel, the Hon. Sir Alexan- 
der, killed at Waterloo, 429, 623, «. 

Grjeme, or Grahame, families of, 
577> ^'■■■i 507) "•> 604, n. 

Graham, Sir John the, 597, n. 

"Gray Hkother, The," 539, 631, «. 

" Gray Mare's Tail," the, a cataract, 
585, «■ . 

Greta Bridge, 2S4, 608, n. 

River, 285, 294, 296, 60S, n., 

6io, n. 

Guardian, The, 613, n. 

Gttisards ot Scotland, 592, n. 

Gunn, John, a noted Highland robber, 
story of, 600, u. 



H. 

Hailes, Lord, 367, 523. 

Hairibee, 10, 571, n. 

Hamilton, family of, 627, n. 

Rip;ht Hon. Lady Anne, 48S. 

of Kothwellhaugh, account of his 

assassination of the Regent Mnrray, 
628, n. 

Lord Claud, 489, 628, n. 

Right Hon. W. G. (Singlespeech 

Hamilton), 615, «. 

" Harold the Dauntless," 435. 

" Harfager, Song of," 544. 

" Hakp, Song of the," 316. 

Hawks, 576, n. 

Hawthornden, 539. 

" Heart OF Midlothian," Mottoes 
from the, 547. 

Heath-burning, 599, n. 

Heber, Richard, Esq., dedication of 
the Sixth Canto of Marmion to, 128. 

Hebridean chiefs, fortresses of, 617, n. 

" HelLvellyn," 493. 

Henry VL, King of England, at Edin- 
burgh, 590, «. 

Hepburn, family of, 576, «. See 
Bothwell. 

Heralds, 583, n. 

Heron, William, of Ford, and his lady, 
68, I c6, 583. «. , 591, n. 

of Gilmerton, 631, «. 

" Hero's Targe," a rock in Glenfinlas, 
204, 600, «. 

Hierarchic, 571, it. 

Highlanders, Scottish, their hospital- 
ity, 597, n. Music, 176, 598, «. 
The Bard,' a family officer, 597, «. 
Epithets of their chiefs, 598, n. 
Tutelar spirits, 599, n. Brogue or 
shoe, 599, n. Coronach, 194, 599, u. 
Cookery, 600, n. Trust-worthiness, 

600, n. Targets and Broadswords, 

601, «. Modes of inquiring into 
futurity, 599, «. Ancient custom 
respecting marriage, 618, n. 

History of Cumberland, 577, n. 

the Rebel. ion, 600, «. 

.Scotland, 585, «., 589, «., 591, «., 

593, «., 628, n. 
" Hither we Come," 53S. 
Hogg, Mr. James, 588, n. " Poetic 

Mirror," 616, n. 
Holy Island, or Lindisfarne, 5S5, «. 
Home, family of, 575, «., 576, n. 
Lord Chamberlain to James IV., 

his conduct at Flodden, 594, «. 
Homer, 612, n. 

Horner, Gilpin, story of, 573, n. 
Horses, shrieking of, in agony, 417, 

622, «. 



Hostelrie. See Inn. 

Hotspur. See Percy. 

Hot-trod, the, pursuit of Border Ma- 
rauders, 576, 71. 

Howard, Lord William, " Beltfed Will 
Howard," 29, 574, «. 

Hunting, 152-154, 301, 470, 489, 596, 
«., 624, 11. 

aerial, superstition of, 624, «, 

" Hunting Song," 496. 

"Huntsman, Lay of the Impris- 
oned," 244. 

" Hymn for the Dead," 58. 

" Funeral," 532. 

■' Rebecca's," 532. 

" TO THE Virgin," 201. 



Ilay, Island of, 370. 

Inch-Cailliach (the Isle of Nuns), 190, 
599. «• 

Indians, the North American, 292. 

Inn, or Hostelrie, Scottish accommo- 
dations of an, in the i6th century, 
588, n. 

lol of the heathen Danes, 128, 592, n. 

Ireland, Spenser's, 611, n. 

Irish, the Tanist, 302, 611, n. Bards, 
611, 71. Chiefs required to assist 
Edward I. in his Scottish wars. 
622, n. 

•' IvANHOE," Mottoes from, 548, 549. 



J- 



J.AMES III., K. ofScotland, rebellion 
against, 590, n. 

IV. His person and dress, ti6. 

Penance of, 590, n. His belt, 116, 
591, n. Apparition to, at Linlith- 
gow, 589, 71. Death of, at Flodden, 

594. «• 

V. Quells the Border robbers, 

181. Why called "King of the 
Commons," 601, n., 602, «. Trav- 
els in disguise, 602, 71. 

Jamieson, Rev. Dr. John, 367. 

Jeffrey, Francis, now Lord, his success 
professionally and in literature, 

566, «., 569, 71. 

"Jock OF Hazeldean," 512. 

Joel, application of a passage from the 

Prophecies of, 603, 71. 
Jongleurs, or Jugglers, 601, «. 
Julian, Count, 603, «. 
■'Juvenile Lines from Virgil," 529, 

63 1, «. 
" On a Thunder Storm," 529, 

63 r, 71. 
" On the Setting Sun," 529. 



" Kemble, John Philip, his Fare- 
well Address on taking leave of the 
Edinburgh stage," 519. 

" Kenilworth," Mottoes from, 551, 

552- 
Ker or Carr, family of, 571, «. 
Kerrs and Scotts, feuds of the, 570, «. 
Knighthood, 34, 575, «. 



" Lady of the Lake," 151. 
Lancey, Sir William de, killed at 

Waterloo, 428. 
Largs, Battle of, 492, 588, 71. 
" Lay of the Last Minstrel," 3. 
" Poor Louise," 536. 



" Lay of the Imprisoned Hunts- 
man," 244. 

" Legend of Montrose," Mottoes 
from the, 548. 

Lennox, district of the, 598, « 

Letters in Verse, to the Duke of 
Buccleugh, 503. 

Leven, Earl of (1644), 607, «. 

Leyden, Dr. John, his death, 394, 

619, 71. 

Lichfield Cathedral, stormed in the 

civil war, 146, 594, «. 
Life of .Scott. 614, 71. 
Lindesay, Sir David, of the Mount, 

i02, 5S9, 71. 

Lord of the Byres, 490, 629, «. 

Lindisfarne, or Holy Island, 5S5, «. 

Lines. See Juvenile. 

Loch Coriskin, 386. 

" LocHiNVAR," Lady Heron's song, 
n8. 

Loch Katrine, 156, 596, «. 

Loch of the Lowes, 585, n. 

Loch Ranza, 395, 620, n. 

Loch Skene, 76, 585, «. 

" Lord of the Isles," 367. 

" Lord of the Isles," 616, n. Contro- 
versy regarding the representation of 
the, 617, 71. 

Lorn, the House of, 617, « 

Love, power of, 21. The gift of 
heaven, 41. 

"Lullaby of an I.nf.^nt Chief," 
511. 

"Lucy Ashton s Song, 531. 

" Miscellaneous Pieces," in the 
order of their composition or publi- 
cation, 492-526. 

Lyrical Pieces. See Songs. 

" Lvulph's Tale," 341. 



M. 



Macdonald, Ranald, Esq.,of Staffa, 
"Lines Addressed to," 502. 

Macdonalds suffocated in the Cave of 
Eigg, 619, «. 

Macbougal, of Lorn, family of, 617, ;/. 

MacAllister's cave in Strathaird, 390, 
6ig. 71. 

"MacGregor's G.^thering," 513. 

630, 71. 

" MacIvor's, Flora, Song," 530. 

"Mackenzie, High Chief of Kin- 
tail, Farewell to," 505. " Imi- 
tation of," 506. 

" MacLean, War Song, of Lach- 
LAN," High Chief of, 506. 

MacLellan, tutor of Bombay, beheaded 
by the Earl of Angus, 593, «. 

" Mackrimmon's Lament," 520, 

631, 71. 

MacLeod of MacLeod, 520, 617, «. 
MacLeod, Laird of, his Cruel Revenge 

on the Macdonalds of Eigg, 619, «. 
Magic, 572, «., 573, «., 576, «., 588, «., 

592, 77., 593, «., 608, «., 609, n. 
" Maid of Isla, The," 522. 
" Maid of Neidpath, The," 495, 

630, 71. 

" Maid of Toro, The," 494. 

Maida, Battle of. 430. 

Maitland, Sir Richard of Lethington, 

i6th century, poem by, 5S4, 71. 
Malefactors, infatuation of, 2S8, 609, w. 
Mar-ch-tieasoTt, 34, 575, «. 
" Marmion ; a Tale of Flodden- 

Field," 61. 
Marmion, family of, 583, «. 

Robert de, 592, «. 

Marriott, Rev. John, dedication to 

him of the Second Canto of Mai- 

mion, 74. 
Marston-Moor, Battle of, 607, n. 



644 



INDEX. 



Mary, Queen of Scots (Epilogue), 

525- 

Massacre of Glencoe, On the, 

501, 630, n. 
Maurice, Abbot of Inchaffray, 622, n. 
Manthe-Doog, the, Isle of Man, 577, «. 
Mayburgh, mound at, 340, 614, n. 
Mazers, drinking cups, 40S, 621, n. 
Melrose Abbey, 11, 571, «. 
Melville, Henry, Lord Viscount, 

death of, in 181 1, 602, «. 
" AJeii of Peace.'''' See Daobie Shi- 
Merlin, 254. 
Milan, artists of, their skill in armory, 

65, 582, «. 
Military Antiquities, 607, 11. 
Miller, Colonel, of the Guards, 428, 

623, n. 
Mingarry Castle, 370, 616, «. 
Minto Crags, 10, 571, n. 
" Monastery," Mottoes from the, 

549i 550- 
" Monks of Bangor's March, 520, 

630, «. 
Monmouth, Duke of, 4. 
Montague, dedication of Marmion to, 

61. 
Montrose, James, first Marquis of, 

597. «■ . 

Moors, the invasion of Spain by, 603, 11. 

Moray, Thomas Randolph, Earl of, at 
Bannockburn, 414, 621, ;/. 

Morritt, J. B. S., Esq., dedication to 
him of Rokeby, 273. " Morte Ar- 
thur," romance of the, extract from 
regarding the " Chapell Perilous," 
580, n. 

Mortham Castle, description of, 287, 
609, n. 

Morton, Earl of, Regent, 490, 629, «. 

Moss-troopers, g. See Borderers. 

" Mottoes from the Waverley Nov- 
els," 545-561- 

Mull, the Sound of, 370. 616, «. 

Mummers, English, 592, «. 

Murray, the Regent, death of, 628, n. 



N. 



Neal Naighvallach, an Irish King 
of the fourth or fifth century, 611, «. 

" Neck Verse," the, 10, 571, n. 

Necromancy, 571, «., 576, «. 

Nelson, Lord, tribute to the memory 
of, 62. 

Newark Castle, on the Yarrow, 4. 

Nicholas, Grand Duke of Russia, 
" Verses sung after a dinner given 
to him at Edinburgh," 513. 

" Noble Moringer, The," 477, 
625, n. 

" Nora's Vow," 512, 630, «. 

Norham Castle, 64, 5S2, >i. 

" Norman-Horse Shoe, The," 494, 
629, n. 

North Berwick, 124, 592, ?/. 



O. 



Odyssey, 594, «. 

Olaus Magnus, 609, n. 

" Old Mortality," Mottoes from, 

547- 
O'Neale, family of, 302, 610, n. 
" On Ettrick Forest's Mountains 

Dun," 522. 
" On the Massacre of Glencoe," 

501, 630, n. 
Orelia, the courser of Don Roderick, 

.258, 603, «. 
" Orphan Maid, The," 531. 
Otterbourne, Battle of, 134, 571, «. 
Ovid, 566, n. 



P. 



P.^DUA, a school of necromancy, 8, 

571, «• . , 

Page, the order of the, in chivalry, 

611, H. 
Paisley, 489, 628, >i. 

■' Palmer, The," 495. 

Palmers, 71, 584, «. 

Passion, the ruhng, 87. 

Peden, Alexander, 631, n. 

Peel-town, Castle of, Isle of Man, 
577. «• 

Penance vaults, 5S7, «. 

Penrith, " Round-table " of, 340, 614, «. 

Percy, Henry, 571, «., 598, «. 

" Peveril of the Pe.\k," Mottoes 
from, 555, 556. 

" Pharos Loquitur," 503. 

Philipson, Major Robert, called 
" Robin the Devil," 611, «. 

Pibroch, the, 598, n. 

"Pibroch of Donald Dhu," 512, 
630, n. 

Picton, Sir Thomas, 428, 623, n. 

Pilgrims, 5S4, «. 

" Pirate," Mottoes from the, 552, 
553- 

" Pitt Club of Scotland, Song writ- 
ten for the," 502. 

Pitt, Right Hon. William, " Among 
those who smiled on the adventurous 
minstrel," 570, n. Procured for Scott 
the office of Clerk of Session, 578, 
«. , 579, 71. Tributes to his memory, 
62, 63, 147. His grave beside that 
of Mr. Fox, 63. 

" Poacher, The," 498. 

" Poetry, Romantic, Remarks on," 

612, n. 

Ponsonby, Sir William, 42S, 623, «. 

Priam, 99. 

" Prologue," 498. 

" Proud Maisie," 531. 

Pryse, " to sound the," 489, 628, n. 



Q- 

"Quentin Durward," Mottoes from, 

556 



R. 



Rae, Right Hon. Sir William, 99. 

Ramsay, Sir Alexander, of Dalhousie, 
cruel murder of, 572, n. 

, Captain, at the action of Fuentes 

d'Honoro. 604, «. 

Randolph, Thomas. See Moray. 

Ravensheuch Castle, 55 

Ravensworth Castle, 300. 

" Rebecca's Hymn," 532. 

" Receipt to make an epic poem," 
6t2, n. 

Rede, Percy, 279, 607, n. 

" Reiver's Wedding, The, " 543, 
632, n. 

" Resolve, The," 497. 

Rere-Cross, on Stanmore, 301, 610, }t. 

"Return to Ulster, The," 511. 

Risingham, 279, 607, 71. 

Ritson, Mr., 622, 7i. 

Robert the Bruce. See Bruce. 

Robertson, Rev. Principal, his account 
of the death of the Regent Murray, 
628, «. 

" Rob Roy," Mottoes from, 547. 

Robin Hood, 228, 598, «., 601, 7i- 

Roderick, Gothic King of Spain, de- 
feated and killed by the Moors, 
603, «. See Don Roderick. 

" Rokeby," 273. 

Rokeby Castle, 284, 608, «,, 611, «. 
family of, 608, h. 



Roman antiquities at Greta Bridge, 
608, «. 
t camp, 601, «. 

" Romance of Dunois," 508. 

Rose, William Stewart, Esq., dedica- 
tion to, of the First Canto of Mar- 
mion, 61. 

Ross, Sir Walter, 620. «. 

" Round Table," 581, « , 615, «. 

Rum, Island of, 619, 11. 

Russell, Major-General Sir James, of 
Ashestiel, 578, «. 

Rutherford, of Hunthill, family of. 
576, 71. 



" Saint Cloud," 507, 630, «. 

Saint John, Vale of, 615, «. 

St. Mary's Lake, 75, 5S5, «. 

" St. Ronan's Well," Mottoes from, 

556, 557- 

" St. Swithin s Chair," 529. 

Saints. St. Bride of Douglas, 57, 578, 
n. Chad, 146, 594, ;/. Columba, 
626, «. Cuthbert, 76, 80, 81 , 587, n. 
Dunstan, 597, «. Fillan, 72, 485, 
584, «. ,626, «. George, 431. Hilda, 
So, 586, «. Maronock, 597, n. Mo- 
dan, 171, 597, 71. Oran, 483, 485, 
626, 71. t!.egn\i\s(Scoitice Rule), 72, 

584, It. Rosalia, 71, 584, «. Serle, 

Salamanca's Cave, 572, «. 
Sangreal, the, 63, 581, «. 
Scales-tarn, Lake of, 614, «. 
Scott of Buccleuch. See Buccleuch. 
of Harden, family of, 30, 574 it., 

585. «• 

Hugh, Esq. , of Harden, now Lord 

Polwartli, inscription for the monu- 
ment of the Rev. George Scott, his 
son, 526. 

Sir John, of Thirlestane, 29, 574. w. 

Mary, " the Flower of .Yarrow," 

30, 575, «., 585, n. 

Sir Michael, 14, 572, «. 

and Kerr, feuds of the families of, 

570, H. 

Sea-fire, phenomenon so called, 617, n. 
Seal, its taste for music, 369, 616, it. 
" Search after Happiness, the ; or, 
the Quest of Sultaun Solimaun, " 514. 
Second-sight, account of the, 596, it., 

626, 7t. 

" Selectors of the slain," 577, n. 
"Sempach, Battle of," 475, 625, n. 
Serenedib, 514. 
"Setting Sun," Juvenile Lines on 

the, 529. 
" Seven Shields, The Castle of 

the," ballad of, 453. 
Spears of Wedderburn, 38, 575, 

Seward, Miss Anna, epitaph designed 
for her monument, 498. 

Shane-Dymas, an Irish chieftain in the 
reign of Elizabeth, 305. 

" Shepherd's Tale, The," 540. 

Shoreswood, the priest of, 584, «. 

Siddons, Mrs. Henry, Epilogues writ- 
ten for, 520, 525. 

Skene, James, Esq., of Rubislaw, dedi- 
cation to, of the Fourth Canto of 
Marmion, 98. 

Skve, Island of, 3S5. 

Smallholm Tower, description of, 

627, «. 

" Smith, Miss, Lines written for," 

518. 
Smith, Sir Sidney, Tribute to, 86. 
Snakes and Serpents, 577, 11. 
Snood, worn by Scottish maidens, 189, 

598, It. 



INDEX. 



64s 



Snow, description of a man perishing 

in, 98, 589, n. 
Snowdoun (Stirling), 247, 602, n. 
" Soldier, Wake," Song, 535. 
Somerled, Lord of the Isles, 371,616, n. 
Soniej-ville, John, 15th Lord, 367. 
" Song," 497. 
Songs : — 

Admire not that I gain'd the prize. 

Ah, poor Louise ! the hve-long day, 
536. 

Allan-a-Dale has no fagot for burn- 
ing, 300. 

All joy was bereft me the day that 
you left me, 496. 

An hour with thee ! when earliest 
day, 536- 

And whither would you lead me 
then ? 319. 

Assist me, ye friends of old books and 
old wine, 523. 

Ave Maria ! maiden mild ! 201. 

A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 300. 

A weary month has wander'd o'er, 
506. 

Birds of omen dark and foul, 531. 

Dinas Emlinn, lament ; for the mo- 
ment is nigh, 494. 

Donald Caird 's come again, 521, 

Dust unto dust, 532. 

Enchantress, farewell, who so oft has 
decoy'd me, 522. 

Farewell to ISIacKenneth, great Earl 
of the North, 505. 

Farewell, merry maidens, to song 
and to laugh, 534. 

Farewell to Northniaven, 534. 

From the Brown crest of Newark its 
summons extending, 509. 

Glowing with love, on fire for fame, 

509- 

God protect brave Alexander, 513. 

Hail to the chief who in triumph ad- 
vances, 177. 

Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 
282. 

Hawk and osprey screamed for joy, 

447- 
Hear what Highland Nora said, 512. 
He is gone on the mountain, 194. 
Hither we come, 538. 
Hurra, hurra, our watch is done, 360. 
I climbed the dark brow of the 

mighty Hellvellyn, 493. 
I was a wild and wayward boy, 316. 
Ill fares the bark with tackle riven, 

448. 
I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelve 

month or twain, 532. 
It chanced that Cupid on a season, 

509. 
It was an English ladye bright, 51. 
It was Dunois the young and brave, 

was bound for Palestine, 508. 
Look not thou on beauty's charming, 

53'- 
Lord William was born in gilded 

bower, 442. 
Love wakes and weeps, 535. 
MacLeod's wizard flag from the grey 

castle sallies, 520. 
March, march, Ettrick and Teviot- 

dale, 533. 
Merry it is in the good greenwood, 

-°7; 
Merrily swim we, the moon shines 

bright, 533. 
My hawk is tired of perch and hood, 

244. 
My wayward fate I needs must plain, 

497- 
Not faster yonder rowers, might, 169. 
O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, 

296. 



Songs : — 
O, dread was the time, and more 

dreadful the omen, 502. 
Oh! say not, my love, with that 

mortified air, 497. 
O, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was 

a knight, 511. 
O, Lady, twine no wreath forme, 314. 
O listen, listen, ladies gay ! 54. 
O, lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 495. 
O, low shone the sun on the fair lake 

of Toro, 494. 
O, Maid of Isla, from the cliff, 522. 
Once again, but how changed since 

my wanderings began, 511. 
On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun, 

522. 
On Hallow-Mass Eve, 'ere youboune 

ye to rest, 529. 
O, open the door, some pity to show, 

495- 
O, tell me, harper, wherefore flow ? 

501. 
Our vicar still preaches that Peter 

and Poule, 235. 
O, young Lochinvar is come out of 

the west, 118. 
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 512. 
Quake to your foundations deep, 363. 
Rash adventurer, bear thee back, 359. 
Red glows the forge in Striguil's 

bounds, 494- 
She may be fair, he sang, but yet, 449. 
Soft spread the southern summer 

night, 507. 
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, 166. 
Soldier, wake — the day is peeping, 

535- 
So sung the old bard in the grief of 

his heart, 506. 
Summer-eve is gone and past, 312. 
Take these flowers, which, purple 

waving, 492. 
That day of wrath, that dreadful day, 

58. 
The Druid Urien had daughters 

seven, 453. 
The Forest of Glenmore is drear, 492. 
The heath this night must be my bed, 

198. 
The last of our steers on the board 

has been spread, 526. 
The moon's on the lake, and the 

mist 's on the brae, 513. 
The sound of Rokeby's woods I 

hear, 318. 
The sun is rising dimly red, 534. 
The sun upon the lake is low,_537. 
The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, 5 ig. 
The violet in her greenwood bower, 

492. 
There is mist on the mountain, and 

night on the vale, 530. 
They bid me sleep, they bid me pray, 

211. 
To the Lords of Convention 't was 

Claver'se who spoke, 537. 
'Twas All-souls' eve, and Surrey's 

heart beat high, 52. 
'Twas a Marechal of France, and 

he fain would honor gain, 501. 
Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, 530. 
Wake, maid of Lorn, 369. 
Waken, lords and ladies gay, 496. 
Wheel the wild dance, 508. 
When Israel of the Lord beloved, 

532- 
Whence the brooch of burning gold, 

377- 
When friends are met o'er merry 

cheer, 538. 
When the heathen trumpets clang, 

520. 
When the tempest's at the loudest, 

537- 



Songs : — 

While the dawn on the mountain 
was misty and gray, 316. 

Where shall the lover rest ? 90. 

Why weep ye by the tide,ladie? 512. 

Ves, thou may'st sigh, 536. 
Spain, Defence of, under the Invasion 

of Bonaparte, 603, «. 

Invasion of, by the Moors, 603, «. 

War with, in 1625-6, 610, «. 

Spells, 573, «. 

Spencer, Earl, 579, >/. 

Spenser, Edmund, 284. Extract from 

his Faerie Qiieene, 569, «. 
Spirits, intermediate class of, 571, ?/., 

588, }i., 599, «., 629, n. 
Staff a. Cave of, 394. 
State Papers, 628, «. 
Stirling Castle, 227, 601, n. 
Stoddart, Sir John, 568, ti. 
Strafford, Earl of, 600, n. 
Strathbogie. See Athole. 
" Sub-Prior, To the," 533. 
Sultaun Solimaun, 514. 
" Sun upon the Lake, The," 537. 
"Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, 

The," 519. 
Superstitions, Popular, 588, jt. See 

also " Fairies," " Spirits." 
Surrey, Earl of (beheaded in 1546), 52, 

577. "■ 
Swords, enchanted, 598, «. 



Taghairm, a Highland mode of au- 
gury, 203, 599, 11., 600, n. 

Tales of Wonder, Lewis, 565, «., 568, 
«., 625, «., 626, «., 627, n. 

"Talisman," Mottoes from the, 557, 
558. 

Tanisfry, Irish custom of, 611, }t. 

Tantallon Castle, 119, 127, 591, n. 

Tecbir, The, the War-cry of the Sara- 
cens, 258, 603, n. 

Tees, the River, 301, 607, «■, 608, «. 

Teith, the River, 153. 

Themis, 566, n. 

Thuanus, 628, «. 

''Thunder Storm," Juvenile lines 
on a, 529. 

Time, 187. 

and Tide, 333. 

Tinlinn, Watt, story of, 574, n. 

"To A Lady," with flowers from a 
Roman wall, 492. 

Train, letter from, 620, n. 

Triermain. See " Bridal of Trier- 
main." 

family of, 614, n. 

Trosachs, the, 154. 

"Troubadour, The," 509. 

"Truth of Woman, The," 535- 

Tunes, attachment to, on death-beds, 
601, «. 

Tunstall, Sir Brian, slain at Flodden, 
141, 593, n. 

" Tweed River, On, 533- 

Twisel Bridge, 138, 593, n. 

" Twist ye, twine ye," 530. 

Tynemouth Priory, 587, n. 

U. 

Uam-Var, mountain, 152, 153, 596) "• 
Unthank, chapel at, 573, «• 
Urisk, a Highland satyr, 599, n. 

V. 

Valcyriur, or " Selectors of the 

Slain," 577, «. 
Valor, personification of, 259- 



646 



Vaux, family of, 614, n. 

Vengeance, feudal, a dreadful tale of, 

619, n. 
Vennachar Loch, 153. 
" Violet, The," 492. 
"Virgil," Juvenile Lines from, 529, 
631, «. 

W. 

Wallace, Sir William, trial and exe- 
cution of, 618, n. 

" Wandering Willie," 496. 

War, apostrophe to, 396. 

" War-Song of Lachlan, High 
Chief of MacLean," 506. 



INDEX. 



Warbeck, Perkiii, story of, 583, n. 

Waterloo, Battle of, 423-431, 623, n. 

Wellington, Duke of, 265, 266, 268. 
" The Field of Waterloo," 427 
passim; 50 r, 502. 

Wellington, Duchess of, dedication of 
" The Field of Waterloo " to, 423. 

" When Friends are met," 53S. 

" When the Tempest," 537. 

Whistling to raise a tempest, 608, ;/. 

Whitby Abbey, 585, ti. 

Whitmore. John, Esq., etc., dedica- 
tion of "The Vision of Don Roderick 

to, 2S3- ^ 

" Wild Huntsman, The,' 470, 624, «. 
Wilkes, John, Esq., 595, «• 



" William and Helen," 467, 624, n. 

Woman, apostrophe to, 144. 

" Woodstock," Mottoes from. 55S, 

559- 
Wordsworth, William, Esq., quotation 

from, 5S5, n. 
Wynken de Worde, loi. 



Zaharak, race of, 359. 

Zernebock, 445. 

" Zetland Fishermen, 

THE," 534- 



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